Unite or Fall
by Shamo9
Summary: The wizarding world faces its greatest threat, the reawakening of a great evil that has remained dormant for centuries. All eyes turn to Harry Potter. If they world won't unite for the hero, maybe they'll unite against the villain. What will Harry choose?
1. A New Plan

Disclaimer: Just another fanfic to add to the pile...

Author's Notes - The following two chapters are posted more for my benefit than anything else. The chapters are actually near the climax of this story, with it actually starting in August 1996. The third chapter will bring the fic back to the start, as it were. Why would I do such a thing? This is like the act of signing a contract, a guarantee that I will reach the end, even if I have to drag my keyboard kicking and screaming. Read the first two if you want, or skip right to the third. It's your choice. You never know, it might wet your appetite... or make you want to rip out your eyes. Either way, Gilderoy will oblige...

Shamo9

This isn't a slash fic...

* * *

Harry Potter - Unite or Fall

A Glimpse of What's to Come

Part One

Chapter 1 - A New Plan

* * *

Date: March 31st, 1997 5:00 PM

Three men of differing importance, in a room that one immediately thought of as meticulously clean, played a game which only one of them knew the rules to. The polished dark wooden walls that echoed heat were covered in trinkets and family portraits, strangely none of the men were present in them. There was a faint outline in the central area of the wall that indicated that a large bookcase, or something similar, had been situated there. In contrast to the clouted walls, the room was otherwise bare. Only a chair, which one of the men was tied to, and a bench - which looked like it'd been lifted from some park - with one occupant who seemed to have perfected the art of invisibility.

"Will Harry Potter be on that train?"

A towering bolder of a man, Abe, with a calloused face that looked like it had been carved out of graphite asked, or rather demanded. He was shaking now; jacket draped over a chair forgotten, shirt sleeves rolled up, giving the impression that he meant business. The target of his ire was an equally calloused man, although his position was quite different. Tied down to a chair, which wasn't necessarily surprising until one considered that these were not mere normal men, but wizards. It was a woefully unsophisticated way of doing things, but as Abe reflected, his master had odd tastes.

"..." was all the answer Abe received from his captive, who appeared nonplussed with the whole affair. Indeed, if one ignored the ropes binding him, the 'captive' wouldn't resemble a captive at all. His appearance was well kept, clothes clean and body washed. His dark brown hair was short and practical, combed down nicely. His wand sat invitingly just a few feet away from him, as if the man had simply put it down, and could reclaim it at his leisure. Even the chair he was sitting in was one of his master's finest: black leather with a well polished holly outline. His master was a man of odd tastes, Abe reaffirmed, as he leaned in suggestively, towering over the tied up captive, draping him in darkness.

"We know you worked for him in America?"

"..."

"Where is he!?"

"..."

"What is he planning!?"

His answer was the same: silence. What infuriated Abe more than anything else was the man's eyes. The blue eyes, unfocussed and unperturbed, weren't even looking at Abe, but past him, at his master. Impertinent ass! He oughta beat the crap out of him!

"I'm talking to you-" Abe was interrupted by something he'd been trying to instigate all along, well, the captive was certainly speaking now, but not to him, and not in the way he had intended.

"Getting some lackey to do your work for you, eh, Earl of whatever! At least Potter had balls!"

Gilderoy's lips finally stopped moving silently. He looked around as if confused as in to why he was there. His eyes focused on the captive. The name 'Potter' seemed to energize him, he was now alive, the centre of attention where he belonged. All eyes drawn towards him. The applause, no, the encore, the cry for more was loud and triumphant, and Gilderoy would oblige.

"Leave us! No, not you, I'm sorry." His sentence dumbfounded everyone in the room. He was staring intently at Abe, so who else did he mean? For one brief bizarre moment, the captive and Abe looked at each other, united in their confusion.

"Eh, sir-"

"I said leave!"

There was no doubt as to who that was directed to as Abe ran like a scalded dog. Gilderoy's eyes panned around the room nervously, as if he were making sure that some invisible object didn't disappear.

The captive snorted at this pathetic man, in lilac robes that looked more feminine than any dress he had seen. The display was incongruous to his position as captive, but he didn't care. Looks like he's blind and crazy. Laughing at his own wit, the captive was startled to discover Lockhart almost nose to nose with him. How had he moved that fast? Apparition? But he hadn't heard a pop...

"What... do you know... of Harry?" Lockhart said slowly, deliberately. Whether to make sure he heard or simply because Lockhart couldn't string two words together, the captive wasn't sure. He sounded high, but on what?

The captive jerked away, creating separation despite being tied down. "I know the kid would eat you alive."

He wasn't sure why, but he had suddenly become nervous. While this gay pretty boy had none of the physical prowess of his previous interrogator, the captive could honestly say that he'd never been confronted by something quite like this. It was different... unknown... and that made this Earl... it made him dangerous. The victim now finally believed that the man in front of him might actually be capable of manipulating a society.

Gilderoy did not look surprised by the sudden reaction. He seemed to revel in the effect he had over him. Gilderoy straightened, flicking his hair with vivacious abandonment. "Eat me?" Gilderoy mouthed to himself. He seemed both humoured and horrified by the notion, his lips forming a smile, his eyes knotting crossly.

"You shouldn't... say such hurtful lies... what a vulgar thing to say. Harry would never... never do something like that - to me. We are... one... the same."

"You are one fuc-"

Gilderoy didn't appear to be listening now, enveloped in his own world. The victim had seen similar scenes in St Mungo's ward reserved for the permanently insane.

"I know, isn't it? Yes. We are celebrities. A higher being. The thrill of the spotlight, it can do both wonderful and terrible things to people. We are different for we are the same. We share the thrill of it, the responsibility that comes with fame, the adoration. Only a fellow celebrity, a fellow leader can empathise." Gilderoy seemed to be delivering some sort of speech, leaning on an imaginary podium, weaving his words with subtle nuances of his hands.

The victim's façade slipped at this... display. "He doesn't want that! He doesn't want any of that!"

"Circumstance is irrelevant. Appearance versus reality. He is a cult of personality, like I. Something your kind would never understand. The thrill of performing, we live for it... some die for it."

Lockhart began muttering again, words that the victim could not understand, and nor did he want to.

The madman spoke again, after a time. The podium was gone, and he slurred his words again, as if he was a flower that had sprouted, only now to be slowly shrivelling up and returning to the dirt. "I would like... you to tell me... everything you know... of Harry."

"Really, what're you going to do about it?" the victim said with a courage he did not feel. Why the hell was he shaking?

Gilderoy nodded, as if in agreement of something. He slowly moved his arm, the victim thought he was going to slap him, but Gilderoy merely opened his palm before the victim's eyes, revealing a Galleon.

Ah, there it is! That's all he could do to him. Money, pah, it couldn't solve everything!

The victim smirked contemptuously. "Money, money!" he said, spitting loudly on the carpet. "Money can't do everything, and it certainly can't kill me."

Gilderoy winced as the saliva seeped onto the carpet. He robotically bent down, brought out a handkerchief, and began wiping the floor delicately. The captive was dumbfounded, not sure how to respond. He watched as Lockhart diligently cleaned the floor like a good maid. Eventually, after Gilderoy had almost rubbed a hole in the carpet, he stood up.

The victim expected anger, he was prepared for that. What he was not prepared for, was Lockhart sauntering slowly towards him, whispering in his ear. "Would you like... to see... my money?"

Gilderoy let the sentence linger, so close the victim could feel Lockhart's breath on his cheek and then... Gilderoy snorted, clapping loudly.

"Very good, very good." Lockhart continued clapping, it was an aggressive, savage clap. The captive was surprised Lockhart's hands weren't bleeding from the impact. The captive watched as Lockhart's hands connected together relentlessly, it was almost hypnotic, everything became a blur.

A hidden door opened. CLAP. Revealing a mess of a man dressed in an apron that was smeared with blood. CLAP.

"I'm in need of your services." CLAP.

The bloodied man wiped some indecipherable substance from his forehead. CLAP. The victim couldn't see over the bloodied man, but he could feel heat eroding from the secret room. CLAP. "I haven't had a chance to clean the tools after the last one, so it'll probably be painful." CLAP.

"That's okay. I'm used to the screaming... It's all publicity."

The clapping stopped, the victim awakened from the trance... He watched as the bloodied man approached, malevolent smile reflected on the large blade he was holding.

"Hey, wait a..."

*****************************************************************

Several hours later, the golden carpet that had previously been spotless was now stained red. Gilderoy paced around the room casually, talking, as if to an old confidant. He seemed confident again, as happy as a man who enjoyed the sound of their own voice - and a ready listener - could be.

"Do you know why I wear white? No, well I will divulge... Memory!"

He placed his hands together, closing his eyes as if he were reading an emotional epitaph.

"I'm afraid, that even celebrities such as myself have imperfections. Oh, those imperfections, the bane of my existence. I'm afraid, well, my memory has a habit of, shall we say, running away at times. But," and now he immediately brightened, pumping his fists with authority, "as my fans expect, I bravely fight on. But alas, I forget myself once again."

His face and voice shifted ominously to the stoic monotone of his previous mutterings. There was no fanfare here, only the cold truth. "I wear white for the blood stains, they stand out better for me to remember. Names, numbers, stories, they can all be forgotten, but the blood... I never forget the blood."

His eyes stared at something only he could see. The stare promised death and vengeance.

"Sir, the train is about to leave the station." Abe, the interrogator from earlier entered the room shyly, eyes on the floor.

"I see, well I'm afraid it's time for the curtain call. Yours not mine, of course. I thank you for your hospitality in granting me the information I required. Hospitable not philanthropic, that's what I always say. It's unfortunate, but the world is a stage, one cannot linger. But there was..." he paused, looking around nervously, as if someone was watching him, "... one thing."

He came closer than ever before, his lips were now even touching the man's skin as he marked him verbally. "Can you hear it? Can you, listen it's - just there, right now!"

Silence. No reply. The anger. "Answer me! Answer me!" He swore and cursed, savagely throwing everything within arm's reach, tearing even his own feminine clothes.

The now even more bloodied man with the apron spoke nonchalant, "Sir, his tongue is cut, he can't answer."

"I see," Gilderoy said slowly, gathering his composure he corrected his hair, smiling jovially at his new friend.

"Would you like your tongue back? Yes, very well, bring it to me."

The 'Doctor' knew better than to argue.

Gilderoy was handed the tongue after the Doctor had hastily searched through the various other organs they had stacked up. Gilderoy handled it reverently, caressing it like the skin of a Goddess. He placed it with great care, back in its rightful place.

"Happy? Will you answer me now?" He closed his eyes, expression serene. After a time, he opened them again. "No, that's to be expected."

Lockhart's words took on a bitter edge as he continued, "You aren't special, just another face in the crowd. But don't worry, don't fret, I have something that will fix you, that will make you better. It's what everyone wants, what they all crave."

He unveiled his wand from a breast pocket. "My signature."

Sounds of skin being torn with meticulous precision reverberated around the room. After three minutes, Gilderoy looked at his work, and thought it good.

"Just think," he said, placing his wand back delicately, "now you're special too."

The torture had lasted for seventeen hours. The man had only lasted the first seven.

Gilderoy nodded pleasantly at the Doctor, thanking him for his assistance, and ordering him to tidy up at his leisure, while making him promise to enjoy his new 'material' vigorously.

"Any time, sir." The Doctor bowed respectfully before eyeing up his new 'playmate' with delight.

"I think I will require a change of clothes, image is key," Gilderoy said as he assessed his appearance. He began making his way to his quarters, flanked by Abe.

Curiosity got the better of Abe as he walked with Lockhart; standing in a corridor in perfect silence for seventeen hours would do that to a person. "Sir, why are you so obsessed with that... boy?" he hesitated before gaining confidence. "Everything is going according to plan, he can't stop us!"Abe finished passionately before he could contain himself.

Gilderoy seemed unaffected by the heartfelt vote of confidence, as if it were a prerequisite. "Let's just say... I'm a dedicated... fan," Lockhart spoke in his stoic monotone once again, hand on the door to the room he'd spent the last seventeen hours in.

"Wait, Sir!" Abe recklessly grabbed Lockhart's shoulder, stricken by the irrational fear that he was about to be locked in with that... 'Doctor'.

Abe was too embarrassed to even breathe. Lockhart studied the hand on his shoulder with a certain air of detachment. "... I... don't like... no touch," Lockhart said, shaking with what looked like fear.

Abe instantly released his grip, splurging out apologies. "Well, excuse me, sir, but it seemed like... you were going to lock me in." Abe motioned to continue walking, but Lockhart remained where he was, hand on the door, blocking his way.

He looked at Abe, no, right through him. "Do you hear it?"

Abe had been around Lockhart enough to know the script by now. "Yes, of course, the applause of your adoring public."

Lockhart's eyes increased in size; face suddenly revealing the wearings of age. Lockhart's eyes became bloodshot as he let out terrifyingly shrill screams, scratching his own face. A dementor's face, Abe thought instinctively as he was frozen with fear.

Lockhart let his hands fall to his side, face bleeding from several small cuts. "Wrong, I'm afraid you are so very mistaken! They are not applauding, no, no, they aren't... They are booing, booing... THEY HATE YOU!"

He slammed the door despite Abe's protests. Lockhart smirked as Abe wildly bashed at the door in terror. "Let me out!", "Don't leave me with him!"

"I did say he could use a new playmate," Gilderoy said while shrugging, confused as to what all the fuss was about. Did he have to write it out to these simpletons nowadays?

Gilderoy drowned out the continued screams by whistling his favourite tune as he sauntered down the hall, nodding to people on his way. In truth, the screams did work as a sufficient bass for the tune.

"It's all publicity, Gilderoy," he said lovingly to himself, screams ringing throughout the building like the flashing of a photographer's camera.

"It's all publicity."

**********************************************************************

Some claim that only during times of great peril do people possess the power to discard their allegiances, their preconceptions and hatreds. To unite; under one banner. The scene at platform 9¾ was proving this theory derelict, champagne glass by champagne glass. It was a time for celebration, a time for bragging.

"All aboard!" came the cry that ignited the fire of bodies. There was an undercurrent of excitement that had been steadily growing in the hearts of the travellers on the platform - some for very different reasons.

The Hogwarts Express was run amok with blurs of speed whistling faintly past each other; like fireflys locked in a jar, they jostled with each other in this confined space, air heavy with the waste of man. Everyone was searching for the opening that the familiar train offered. Loud and vibrant, the Hogwarts Express stood proudly, as if to assure the potential occupants that it was still there - waiting.

While such a sight at such a station was not particularly surprising, there was one fundamental difference that left an indelible chill in the air. The pitter-patter of small footsteps along with the energetic murmur of laughter was painfully absent. Instead of children wrestling with their luggage, men and women of varying wealth accompanied by their long coats and servants boarded the train. Canes replaced toys. Money replaced sweets.

A few children were situated at the platform, but their roles had been reversed. Now they were the ones crying, pleading silently to follow, to not be left behind. But the destination remained the same. To Hogwarts. To the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

In truth, even the ever reliable train had changed its outward appearance. In an attempt to accommodate the thousands of the wizarding social elite, new personal designed carriages had been attached to the docile train. It now was as mismatched and uneven as a Mr Potato head, it was probably more suitable for a child as well.

The insignias of the various countries in attendance battled for dominance, each contrasting horrible. This was indeed not merely a British wizarding spectacle but a global one, a rare opportunity for countries to showcase their superiority. Under the pretence of celebration of course.

"Ah, the Hogwarts express," Allan murmured solemnly, as if visiting a sick friend as he prepared to board.

"Did you know," Allan said, "that this here is the first steam engine. Oh, I know what you're thinking. Don't let those muggles fool you, we got there first. Then wands made there appearance and everything else just stood still." He paused looking almost accusingly at the fellow passengers making their way. "We got lazy."

"I don't think we should get on," said an old women who clearly didn't appreciate the history lesson.

"Dorothy, you're not a seer, please stop acting like one."

"People are going to die," she said, "and only the lucky will survive... and those not h-"

Allan was clearly exasperated with her 'ominous' prediction. "Now you're scaremongering, could we please just board. Look, look there's even an orchestra, what sort of disaster ever occurred with an orchestra present."

He pointed at a band who were currently struggling to load their equipment which looked, judging from their expressions, to be quite heavy. Allan could tell they were an orchestra from the tags that were magically attached to their caps reading: ORCHESTRA MEMBER 1, 2 and 3 respectively.  
Allan found nothing peculiar in this at all.

They wore drab pale brown uniforms that looked more suitable for cleaners than anything particularly grand. The orchestra consisted of two men with matching black hair that fought against their containment, and a women with blonde that had already won out. The women, for her part, seemed to want to get better acquainted with the instruments and one of the men quickly pulled her away, rolling his eyes and sounding disgruntled despite the smile on his lips.

Allan wasn't the only one who was excited by the arrival of the musicians; a young couple, arm in arm, dressed in the latest muggle fashion pointed at the trio. The women, who despite looking beautifully seductive, portrayed the mannerisms of an excitable child.

"Look, Firo, its a band!"

The man displayed a similar countenance, causally lowering his shades without relinquishing his grip on the women; he whistled loudly.

"Is it Mozart or Beethoven, maybe even Glass!?"

He grabbed his hat, throwing it into the air as the women applauded. "Play us a song," he sang with an affected voice that sounded suspiciously like he was trying to gain the attention of everyone on the platform.

The man who was trying to pull the blonde haired women off looked over, eyes shrouded by his cap. He stuck up his middle finger defiantly. The singing man seemed to take this as encouragement, unperturbed as he caught his hat deftly, much to the delight of the childish women, before blowing a kiss in the bands' direction as he boarded one of the more glamorous carriages, singing as loud as ever, much to the distaste of his fellow passengers.

The man from the band finally conceded defeat to the blonde haired women. He sighed, adjusting his cap, giving the impression that he was covering something up.

Not everyone could focus on the upcoming party at Hogwarts. Such a large party of people spelt a massive headache concerning security. Aurors were like ghosts, trained to mingle inconspicuously - one didn't want to upset the party mood - they drifted, alert to any possible disruption. Some part-time workers had set up stalls for food and fluids while Healers had been granted a special carriage to tend to those feeling unwell. So many people in such a tight space was a breeding ground for sickness.

Benjamin had been serving as a conductor for the train for... what was it now? 50 years? Yes, that sounded about right. He was a humble man; who didn't ask for much. Some would call it a lack of ambition, but Benjamin slept at night with the knowledge that he was satisfied. In a way, he was the luckiest man alive.

He didn't have any kids himself, although it never bothered him or his wife. As conductor, he had been granted special access to thousands of childrens' lives over the years. In a way, they were all his children. He had watched them grow from nervous first years filled with wild thoughts, to competent men and women who guided their own children down the same trusted road, relying on him to bring them back safely.

It had become such an important task that many didn't even consider it, like they didn't consider their own heartbeat. Benjamin considered it a compliment. To live vicariously through these people was to live a thousand times.

The Hogwarts Express had changed considerable over the years he'd been working, but retaining enough of its original spirit to not be accused of dissimulation. He looked around the conductor's perennial carriage. It made him feel young again to step foot in here. No matter how many infirmities he'd accumulated over the years, this tenacious carriage remained as magnanimous as when he'd first met her.

The system had completely revamped for the more 'refined' guests. Each carriage was designed to match the tastes of the occupants, with corridors separating each carriage from one and other. They were celebrating unity in the face of a great threat. No need to live with each other, Benjamin thought snidely as he inspected his own quarters.

It was different from the other carriages. The conductors weren't going on some voyage, they were working, and the practical air reflected that. A temperamental clock was hung on the right wall and another clock adjacent to it - so the conductors didn't have to waste time turning their heads - didn't always agree with its opinion on the time. There was no seats, so conductors avoided the temptation of sitting down; their job was on their feet, constantly moving between the passengers. The floor also felt strangely like stone, whether to discourage the conductors on sitting down further, or simply as a result of poor craftsmanship, he wasn't sure. There was also a small public address system that didn't really project loudly enough for the normal amount of carriages to hear, never mind the extended amount they were contending with today.

To his great pride, he'd been the sole conductor since his last apprentice had immigrated to America, some twenty years ago. No one since had passed his internal assessment, much to his superiors' exasperation. He'd tried not to be too offended when the Ministry had taken liberties, hiring a new conductor to "assist him on this expedition", as the Ministry called it. What had irritated him further was the fact that they hadn't even consulted him. As if eviscerating the train wasn't enough for them, he thought with irritation.

The effusive and fun loving children had been replaced by the pompous elongated upper class who Benjamin remembered as spoiled snot nosed children, born with a silver wand up their arse. It was going to be unpleasant dealing with their snobbery rather than the innocence of the children, but he was the only one for the job.

One of the young upstarts that he'd been told to expect was already in the carriage. He straightened his lined and haggard face in an attempt to appear amiable. Conductors had to have a pleasant disposition by default. The young man was practically overflowing with excitement, standing in the centre of the room, fidgeting like he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Your first time, son?"

The man jumped out of his daydream with a start, he looked around as if he had been caught in a criminal activity. Benjamin could have announced himself but he'd wanted to test this young man's reactions. If he was going to be working for him then he'd have to be in peak condition. Benjamin would accept no less.

He repeated the question.

"Y- Yes, sir, fours years in the making I am," he smiled as if to prove that they were all worth it, worth every second.

"Do you have a name?"

"Yes, sir, Adam."

The old man nodded in satisfaction, turning to begin his inspections, the young man rose nervously.

"Sir, I - just wanted to say," he straightened up now, head held high. "It's an honour to be working with you. I look forward to many successful voyages with you," he spoke with the practised ease of someone reciting memorised lines, but judging by the way he respectfully bowed to end his speech, Benjamin guessed it was heartfelt.

Benjamin looked at him, eyes scanning from top to bottom, then smiled.

"This is my last ride son."

The young man gasped and then lowered his head, as if he'd just heard of the death of a close friend. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Hey, come on, it isn't like I'm dying or anything. I worked my ass off for this retirement, and I intend to enjoy, damn it. There's more to life than this." Benjamin stretched his arms, gesturing around the room.

The young man looked like he'd never truly thought of such a notion.

Benjamin sighed, this was why he didn't have kids of his own. He'd have run out of spoons to feed them with after the first year! "Every generation thinks they're most important, that they are different, that their problems are greater, their wars more meaningful, but in the end, that meaning is simply self-applied. In the end, the real judge will be future generations like yourself, and I doubt we'll care much by then?"

"... Why not... sir?"

"Because we'll be dead."

Benjamin added while laughing, "Ah, who knows, maybe your generation will be different after all. Your time is coming soon, hopefully you don't make the same mistakes we did, but, we're all the same."

"Sorry, sir, but you said... mistakes?"

"Bah, whadda I know. I'm satisfied with what I've done and I'm now going to enjoy the simpler things in life, probably laughing as I watch you all run around like idiots."

Benjamin motioned for him to follow. "You take the front, I'll take the back. I'm sure I don't have to remind you to be polite when asking for tickets."

"Of course, sir, I've read the manual," Adam answered, eager to please. So there's a manual now, Benjamin thought, bemused.

Benjamin bent down, setting the stove ready for some tea. Adam eyed him curiously but was too polite to ask what he was doing.

"We have inspections every half hour, in between it'd be better to stay refreshed ourselves, don't you think?"

Adam nodded slowly, jotting the information down on his hand fastidiously. Apparently that hadn't been in the manual!

"Oh, and another thing, please, once we go out there, call me Benjamin. We should at least appear to be friendly. Appearance is everything in this job, and you only get one chance to make a first impression."

"Yes, sir!" Adam saluted. Benjamin rubbed his brow, this was going to be a long day.

"Well, let's go into the lion's den."

"The... lion's den, sir?"

"It's a metaphor, son."

Benjamin could sense movement behind him.

"Adam?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't write that down."

He could hear Adam quickly correcting his shirt sleeve. This one could take a while.

As he walked out of the carriage together with his effusive partner, he couldn't help but be reminded of himself when he looked at Adam. A much younger and stupider version who was too eager to please, but himself none the less.

****************************************************************

"One, two, three, turn; one, two, three, turn.... You're very good at this," Vermont said as he led Daphne across the carriage in a Waltz. The scene seemed to have been stolen from a mushy romantic movie. The walls were covered in blood red lovehearts that made Daphne want to vomit rather than sing a serenade. The furnisher had been moved to one side to make way for the 'dance floor' that Daphne and Vermont currently resided in. Some classical piece that Daphne could not appreciate in her current situation played lightly in the background. Don't touch me you sick pervert, she wanted to scream, but instead she let her treacherous mouth say, "More wine?"

Any excuse to get away from him, she thought, exhausted. Her shoulders sagged as she turned her back on him under the pretence of getting the bloody wine that burned a hole through her throat. It was the lesser of the two evils however and-

"Wait, stop!" He touched her shoulder lightly, pulling her towards him.

"I'm sorry?" she said, fluttering her eyelids, perfectly in sync with his sudden mood swings.

His eyes burned with an intense fire. "Never leave me, darling."

Daphne rubbed her eyes, managing to produce a few tears for his approval. It also was a blessing to break his gaze, a gaze that was undressing her, stitch by stitch. She nodded to reassure him as was cordial but he wasn't satisfied.

"No, continue, continue!" he said like an exulted soldier waiting for further orders.

"Continue what?"

He smiled devilishly, Daphne was amazed at how one could smile in so many different ways; while remaining vigilant for any roaming hands. "Talking."

"You like my voice?" Daphne said elegantly, blushing profusely.

"Do I like it!" he said with bewilderment, finally releasing her as he waved his arms to give a visual demonstration on how axiomatic the question was.

But then his arms were around her again as his voice trembled with emotion. "Your voice, your sweet lyrical voice bares resemblance to the subtle cadence of a harp string played in my heart."

Vermont leaned in close, lips brushing her neck. "And it plays only for you, baby. Only... for you."

"Oh, my," Daphne gasped, flustered. The good little virgin.

"Roses are red, violets are blue, and I want you."

Oh crap, abandon ship, he was leaning for a chaste kiss now. Daphne knew where this was going if she didn't castrate his horniness. Concentrate, think of something, that's what she would say. Okay.

Daphne leaned in, allowing him a kiss for damage limitations. "You could have me anywhere, I'm yours."

His eyes seemed to glaze over even further, if that were physically possible, as he began pushing her towards the wall.

"But as yours," she interrupted, breath shuddering, "don't you think I should retain my purity for a more appropriate occasion? Such as the revolution?"

His eyes returned to clarity with recalcitrance. His decadent desires were forgotten as he smiled again, this time with a bittersweet edge.

"How right you are, baby. Our victory shall be glorious. Imagine their faces, as they beg for mercy, and you standing there, in all your grace and glory, standing in your rightful place, by my side. Imagine the power, the romanticized world we will create together, the new Adam and Eve. The fruits of our love will..."

He paused and Daphne held her breath, lips parched and appearing outwardly as if she were intoxicated with the promised future. His breathing became ragged as he locked eyes with her. He winked at her with belligerence. "But you can't wait."

He pounced on her in what he hoped was a display of animalistic dominance. Like a peacock displaying his feathers, he lifted her up, spinning her around. Crap, this wasn't what she'd planned! Think!

"I shall have you-" CRACK.

Daphne fell to the ground suddenly as she watched a vase connect sickeningly with the skull of her 'lover'. It was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard, the vase breaking on impact, little shards scrapping his scalp just to compound his hell.

"Clumsy and simple, Neville, but I suppose that sums you up?" She hid her relief well, redirecting her emotions in the only way she knew how. Almost managing to appear annoyed at her rescue.

"Daphne," Neville whined nervously. "Charlie said we're supposed to use the code names."

"Daphne? Charlie? Great code names, Longbottom." Daphne snorted derisively as Neville blushed.

"But, but Charlie-"

"Weasley can crawl under a rock and die for all I care."

"You wouldn't say that to his face," Neville said without thinking.

Daphne simply smiled delicately as she gave an experimental tap to the body before her, wiping her shoe on Vermont's silk shirt. He was knocked out cold, blood pouring languidly from multiply gashes on his head. She watched the pool of blood trickle slowly... the same colour as the lovehearts on the wall. "Unlike this man and yourself, I possess a modicum of intelligence," she muttered while continuing to lightly kick the body.

"You seemed to be enjoying it to me," Neville said slowly, not fully understanding the magnitude of his words. Daphne turned her back on him, afraid she might crack.

"Well, at least he knows how to treat a women." NO, NO, NO, NO.

"Are you okay?" Neville asked, watching her movements closely.

She abruptly stopped, huffing loudly. "Simpleton. Why haven't you told me where Luna and Potter are? I need to discipline him in particular for having thoughts above his station."

Neville shifted nervously,."You know the plan..."

Daphne stepped lightly over the body before strutting to the door. She motioned for Neville to follow her, smiling wickedly as she knocked over Vermont's expensive wine. The bottle smashed like the vase, mingling with Vermont's blood. She hoped he drowned in it.

She winked at Neville, turning down the corridor, knowing on instinct that he was following her. "New plan."

Duly obliging, Neville rushed to catch up with her. "Did you find anything useful?"

"He was just a pawn in a much bigger game."

Neville gulped nervously and Daphne rubbed her hands together internally. It was a game she intended to win.


	2. Grace in a Crash

Disclaimer: Just another fanfic to add to the pile...

Author's Notes - The same stuff from the first chapter applies here as well. If you haven't read it then do so now or prepare to be confused. I took the liberty of cutting one small scene from this chapter between Luna, Harry and Grace. It went from being a preview to spoiling the whole fic so I'll simply edit it back in when we catch up. Remember chapter three will see the fic return to the beginning...

Shamo9

* * *

Harry Potter - Unite or Fall

A Glimpse of What's to Come

Part Two

Chapter Two - Grace in a Crash

* * *

Date: April 1st, 1997 1:00 PM

The atmosphere of carriages remained consistent, with a sort of frenetic excitement bubbling over as everyone anticipated the historic events that were to take place. Of course, the topic of conversation continued to revolve around the triumphant return of Albus Dumbledore - breaking the chain of mysterious disappearances that had been taking place over the past year. Faces were flush and full, cheeks reddening with invigoration as they celebrated leaving behind the troubles to the distant past, the wizarding gaze now fixed to a brighter, united future. The Earl of Mormaer feel good philosophy had infected them all. He had promised an end to the invisible threat, and with the death of Harry Potter, the end was now in sight. In fact, they were approaching it right now. Hogwarts. Where the final formalities could make way for the celebration.

"Self sacrificing, that is what a hero should be. To think that we now have the opportunity to honour such courage... it warms my old heart." Mrs Dawson, a middle aged plump lady fanned herself in one of the more ostentatious carriages. A solitary violin played in the background, accentuating the cosy feeling of protection that enveloped them all as the wine flowed and the rumours, each more fanciful than the next, became their nexus.

"I heard he destroyed two clans when there was that little trouble with the wands!"

"I heard he ate them."

"I heard he battled a demon, and then used the demon to kill the Jacuzzi family."

"I heard that he's still alive."

The tension was ruined, everyone sat back down. One of the ringleaders snorted. "Don't be preposterous!"

"This is the problem with young people today. Head in the clouds. Back in my day-"

"No one gives a rat's ass about your day, Macbeth. Back then-"

"I'd appreciate if you'd surcease with the profanity. Mr-"

"You know what we should all be talking about, instead of celebrating we should be talking about the increase in the insane. St Mungos is packed to the rafters."

"Potter."

"What about the recent spat of murders all down the West Coast. Not a single drop of-"

"Potter!"

"Not everything can be answered with that name."

And so the wild arguments and counterarguments flew like birds across the train. The rumours were like an infectious disease, spreading throughout the train and polluting everyone who crossed it. The rowdy became rowdier and the shy more open with alcohol in their stomachs, and it flowed like the Niagara Falls. The thin layer of propriety began to dissipate as everyone prepared for what they knew would be the event of their generation. To think that they would get to see such a sight. Them. How lucky. How fortunate.

Throughout the hubbub, the weary conductors trudged along from carriage to carriage, checking everything was in order and all tickets were accounted for. By the end of the session even Adam was beginning to lose that naive indefatigable boisterousness. Benjamin had decided they should take the opportunity to rest in a quieter carriage where conversation was less likely to spread.

"We can't appear to be waning or they'll sense it like a pack of wolves and take advantage. It's a tactical rest, we'll get our rounds done faster this way," Benjamin said between breaths.

Adam nodded, soaking up every word his leader said like a sponge.

But a new rumour was spreading, an eerie rumour that instead of catalysing conversation, killed it stone dead. Leaving an awkward silence in every carriage as people laughed lightly for reassurance from a chill that was rising.

Whether it was from excessive drinking or just general ill health, people began to excuse themselves. Cold sweats pervaded as the women patted their faces with handkerchiefs while the men loosened their tops.

A new scene repeated continuously with different incumbents. "Sorry", "Excuse me, I'm just going to freshen up", "I think I need a sit down for a minute", "It's nothing".

Corridors were infested with the walking wounded as they each waited their turn. A dark cloud hung in the air, but sniffles and nausea were not prevalent. They felt agitated and nervous because they were perfect. Sight sharpened, niggles corrected, skin like armour. They felt good. They were impervious. Like a better, brighter, more alive part of themselves had not only been awakened, but was permeating below the surface, coaxing for freedom that it deserved.

"I can't wait for the feast, its been years since I was at Hogwarts, I hope the standards have been maintained," a jovial, bright young man said to his friends who laughed heartily. "Yeah, I can't wait to see you stuff your face, sounds great."

"Hhhhmmm," Firo interrupted the friendly banter, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as if in deep contemplation. He began scratching his hat as if it were a part of his head. "Certainly, but this whole proceeding seems ready made for demons."

Several minutes, drinks and nearly a dozen people latter, the story continued.

"And, who, who do they decide to hunt?" said a nervous but attentive young man in one said carriage. Firo had been gathering quite the crowd around his table as he'd begun retelling 'his' story rather loudly, attracting passers by like honey for a bee.

Firo produced his pompous voice for the crowd, putting a hand on his heart to emphasise the grave but sincere tone. "Whenever the story is uttered, whoever is present dies. The only words they will ever utter again is 'tredecim animus... mos addo terminus'."

"How do you stop it?" several people demanded at once, clearly expecting some revelation.

Firo's long, worn, foreboding, and atmospheric encouraging face promptly returned to its natural state: a sly grin. "Yeah, right, a thousand apologies about that. Unfortunately the guy who told me that died shortly after." Firo laughed sheepishly, not catching the sudden wave of panic.

"What!", "That can't be!" was fired across the table at Firo as he continued to grin, thoroughly amused by it all. One of the more common gentlemen managed to raise his question over the current battle royal of hysterics.

"But then how are you still alive?"

"I told him to write it down, what do you think I am, an idiot?" Firo tipped his hat at the gaping audience before taking his leave, moving on to the next carriage.

After a brief rest, Adam and Benjamin continued their duties at full capacity once again. Adam was always two steps ahead, apparently eager not to waste a second. Benjamin on the other hand was troubled by the sudden change in mood, almost as blatant as a flick of a switch, that his partner had not noticed.

"Adam, you forgot this one." Benjamin stopped, never missing a beat, even if his thoughts were astray. Benjamin began to open the door, surprised when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Sir, I... don't think you should go in there..." Adam trailed off, Benjamin could feel the man shaking through the light grip on his shoulder. He frowned looking at the door and then Adam, confused as to why this generic door was provoking such a reaction. He could hear some incoherent ramblings behind the door - probably some drunkard.

"Something you want to tell me, son?" Benjamin said softly as Adam released his grip; face reading like he was giving up something important.

"I just don't think it's safe, there might be people, bad peop-"

Benjamin now put his hand on Adam's shoulder firmly, his hold was definitely not shaky. Eyes focused, he smiled reassuringly at Adam, having dealt with hesitancy in youngster before.

"I have never avoided any carriage. Regardless of reputation or whatever, it's my job and I will do it to the fullest of my ability." Benjamin patted Adam's shoulder in a brief show of solidarity before opening the door.

***************************************************

"Mummy, Mummy, look! I can bend it!" Grace, a vivacious, lively young girl yelled excitedly as she showcased her strength by bending a plastic fork. Mrs Perkins nodded tiredly at her little girl, grimacing slightly at the stares she thought they were receiving.

"That's lovely, dear, could you just bend the fork slightly quieter?" Mrs Perkins rubbed her eyes slightly, travelling always had this affect on her, rumbustious little girl or not.

Grace looked at her mother as if she'd grown two heads, blowing a raspberry in incredulity. "Mummy, you can't bend a fork quietly!"

"Well I'm sure you'll find a way," Mrs Perkins said in her best 'encourage my daughter' voice. Bemoaning the fact that her daughter thought it necessary to shout every word.

"Can I go show, Mr Firo?" Grace said brightly, utilising her best 'puppy dog' face. "Ppplllleeeaaassee," Grace added with a whine to sweeten the deal, knowing her mother's dislike for it.

Mrs Perkins looked around, it appeared the poor man who her daughter had been hassling had left for pastures new. "Better not bother the poor man any more, dear," she said, patting her daughter's head in a conciliatory gesture that only seemed to incense her daughter, who jerked away. Mrs Perkins sighed at her troublesome daughter, eyes continuing to roam around the room. Light conversation floated round the carriage as most sat around tables discussing trivial matters without being close enough to exclude others. Light blue wallpaper giving it a more serene, content atmosphere; with most seated. the walkways were relatively quiet, much to the relief of Mrs Perkins, who was painfully aware of her daughter's exuberance. Her eyes slowly focused on a group of four men breaching the carriage, their unkempt appearance, with wild hair and growing beards, gave the impression that they'd just woken up.

"Anyone seen the Perkins family in here?" one of the men called. They wore dirty, ragged robes that had obviously seen its fair share of action; designed more for practicality than any fashion statement.

Mrs Perkins noticed that they had their wands outstretched, their demeanours not exactly pleasant as they opted to leer rather than glance at the passengers. She'd seen their unscrupulous sort before, those that thought they operated on a different planet, with a different set of rules. Vigilantes, she thought with disgust, eyes narrowing. Mrs Perkins lowered her head somewhat, whispering urgently to her daughter:

"Grace, could you please go to the toilet."

"But Mummy, I don't-"

"Grace," her mother said in a warning tone, letting Grace know that resistance was futile.

Grace silently nodded, and her mother whispered finally, "Go that way, and don't look back."

She pushed Grace slightly to get her going, which irritated Grace to no end. Grace didn't notice her mother's worried eyes follow her, or the men at the opposite end of the carriage, such was her foul mood. Honestly, she wasn't a child, when would her mother realise? Grace huffed with exasperation, staring daggers into the floor; wiping her back where her mother had pushed her. Giving one last rude gesture of rebellion, Grace closed the carriage door, entering the plain corridor.

Grace's mood immediately began to improve the further she moved from the carriage. She was a curious girl by nature, so when the opportunity arose for a little exploring - through the pretence of a short trip to the toilet - who was she to refuse? It was terribly boring, being surrounded by grown ups who only wanted to drink and talk. Her mother was one of them unfortunately, but no one was perfect, Grace reasoned. She promised to herself that she'd never grow up to be a stuffy uptight bottom!

She nodded to herself, set in her goal. The unfortunate thing was there was no actual kids around. So she was imprisoned with the boring people for now. Bored, bored, bored, bored. Grace rattled off in her mind, puffing her cheeks. The train jolted every couple of seconds now, unsteadying her fragile frame slightly, but in truth, she relished the idea that they were moving so fast. Although she knew they were moving, she wanted to see it for herself, to actually feel the wind against her face, it would be so...

Grace gushed. Struck with a sudden desire to look. To prove that they were moving! Grace rushed down the train, moving at a lightening pace, oblivious to the offended comments as she charged relentlessly through carriage after carriage. She even bumped into a blonde haired women, who offered strenuous apologises which fell on death ears as Grace continued moving. Faster and faster. She ran until she could run no longer, nearly down to her knees in exhaustion.

Deciding to continue her explorations at a lighter pace, Grace opened the next door slowly, taking it in. The room was draped in darkness, spider webs contorted over the walls. Grace noticed small black things scurrying across the floor, away from... Grace shut the door promptly, breathing heavily as she slowly backed away from the door as if it had scolded her. She hated spiders.

Grace decided that it was time to head back to her mother's carriage. She would obviously be worried about her, and it would be terrible irresponsible of her to keep her mother stressed like that. Grace couldn't help but take a few cautious, surreptitious looks behind her, just to make sure. It was this that resulted in her colliding head on with a pair of legs.

Ouch! Grace felt her face connect with what felt like a knee. She winced, stumbling slightly as she rubbed her nose. It stung every time she touched it, making her squirm; but it was still working, allowing Grace to smell, yuck! She kept both hands on her nose, opting to forgo breathing if it meant inhaling that!

The legs spoke, a deep bass that released small droplets of spit attacking her. "What's this we have here? A young girl on her own in a foreign place."

Grace looked up, shielding herself from the barrage. The voice felt like it was coming from a different time zone, such was the size of the man. His face was tiny from her angle, but she could make out the fact that his lips were titled upwards. Grace didn't like it. She tried to continue moving, but the legs wouldn't budge. "... You shouldn't go wondering on your own. Bad people are here, but I'll protect you. Dinnae worry, I'll take you back to your mum."

Grace frowned. She couldn't imagine her mother associating with these ugly people, let alone ask for their help. He was a bad man, she decided.

"I have to go." Grace ignored the legs' protests, sprinting off back the way she came. Her apprehension turned to fear as she looked back, noticing that the pair of legs had friends, multiple friends, and they were all running after her, shouting things that would make her mother blush. Grace felt the sweat drip down her back as she quickened the pace, her shirt practically becoming one with her skin in the most uncomfortable fashion. She wanted to stop and itch but she didn't dare. Just continued moving. Left foot, right foot, again and again. She imagined she was like the train, chugging away. No, she was faster than the train. She had to be!

Grace continued pushing, continued gasping for breath but never stopping. She was dismayed to find that the carriages now were uninhabited, merely compartments to hold possessions and pets. Grace noticed some strange objects that her mother would probably warn her not to look at for too long, never mind touch.

She winced as she felt a stitch in her side. Rubbing it furiously, she tried to stem the pain. She couldn't go on like this, she needed to do something! Gambling on this carriage, Grace turned the round door knob anxiously, hoping there would be someone to greet here, someone willing to help her.

Grace gasped in dismay, there was no one. She began to attack her fingernails in panic. No good, no good. Just a drab bare room with the only inhabitants being a precarious piled stack of instruments that looked like they'd been thrown together acrimoniously. Grace heard the footsteps outside, she cursed, there was no time.

Hide, she thought urgently, jumping behind a large viola, reverting to the fetal position. She kept her eyes firmly closed, willing her entire body, imploring it to be silent. She could hear the loud, almost obnoxious giant footsteps outside the door. Thump, thump, thump. They stopped. Please don't find me. Please don't find me. Please. Please. She repeated the mantra in her head, trying to lock the door with sheer will power alone. She envisioned it in her mind. Close. Close. She begged, as if it were her saviour. It crashed open.

Grace didn't even dare to breathe as she remained locked in the fetal position, eyes closed, praying to anyone that would listen. She imagined leaving her body behind, freeing herself of its trappings, its limitations, of beating the bad men. It was dark she rationalised, so they might not see here. She could...

"Lumos." A horrific voice rang through the room; a blinding light tried to force her eyes open, but she tenaciously kept them shut. No. No. No. She screamed inside, this isn't real. She felt a hand grab her by the hair, yanking her back to reality. Blood rushed to her head as she felt the red hot pain of her hair being pulled as she was dragged up. Like a doll in some sort of exhibition, she felt many eyes gape at her.

"I found the brat!" Grace's captor hollered victoriously. Her eyes remained deadlocked. No. No. No. It was a dream. She hoped against hope.

"For Merlin's sake man, would you go easy on the light," a gruff voice said, but Grace still didn't dare open her eyes. Hoping that she could leave her body behind, hoping she could escape this nightmare.

"Sorry about that," a voice said sheepishly, the light faded slightly, and Grace opened her right eye, turning it into a slit. There were three men in the room, three bad men that looked as if they'd been rolling around in filth, picking up every foul thing imaginable. They all formed a circle around her, hovering over her, trapping her. Grace returned to her prison, locking her eyes up tight.

"She the one?" a voice quizzed. Grace kept her eyes closed, protecting herself from the bad men.

"Yeah, definitely. Mormaer was very specific." She felt fear slither down her back like a disease. She kept her eyes closed.

"Let's take her back to our carriage, and that bitch of a mother. I swear, she has quite the pair of lungs."

Grace opened her eyes. "Let go of me!" Grace yelled, spurred on by a sudden rush of anger. She couldn't touch anything with her hands so Grace spun round, jumping on the man who was holding her hair. She bit down. Hard.

"Aaahhh, for Christsake, she's biting," the man holding her screamed. He began shaking her, desperately trying to loosen her tooth hold. Grace was nearly blinded by the white hot pain, she thought the man might pull her head from her shoulders. But still she held on. Ringing in her ears intensified as she felt the continuous stabs of pain attack her skull, relentless.

"Incarcerous!"

Grace felt something wrap around her tightly, she gasped as air was stolen from her lungs. She released her grip on the man, landing on the ground painfully, with nothing to break her fall. She was face down, kissing the drab, dour wooden floor that reminded her so much of the polished apple aroma of her father's study. Home. She wanted it now so much that it hurt, weighing heavily on Grace, her chest ached with it. She was crying now.

"That's it, I'm teaching her a-"

A great protesting whine filled the room. The door opened. From her position, Grace noticed the silhouette of a person forming on the floor, still expanding. She could smell the candles outside in the corridor, flickering, but still ablaze. Still dizzy with the incessant ringing in her ears, Grace took her chance, lifting her head slightly, she yelled with all her might.

"Please, he-" her words were cut short. She opened her mouth again, but no words were coming out. No, what was wrong? Grace opened her mouth as wide as it could go, straining her every muscle, she screamed, like her life depended on it, it probably did. She felt veins throb on her forehead as she screamed, feeling her throat grow dry, but still nothing, no sound, nothing. Grace dropped her head to the floor, defeated. Home was lost to her. She almost didn't even feel the wand press against her back, like a leech as it drained the hope from her - she closed her mouth.

Grace was lifted up, supported by one of the bad men.

"Nothing to worry about here, she was just having a little travel sickness," one of her captors said, putting on a fake, pleasant voice for the newcomer at the door.

This outright lie hit Grace like a lightening bolt. She was a world wind of emotion but there was one domineering force that overtook even her fear. Anger. No, Grace screamed in her head, no, it's a lie! She could see the person now, it was a women, skinny with blonde hair and blue absent eyes. Grace was dismayed. This wasn't what it was supposed to be. This girl would have no chance against these three monsters, these three behemoths. Still, Grace continued to fight, trying to signal with her eyes, get help, get help!

"A new plan then," the women mumbled to herself, bowing at the group respectfully before opening her arms wide, encompassing the room as if she wanted to grab it and take it home.

"Oh, travel sickness... I used to suffer from that terrible affliction," the women said, speaking as if it was her first time. Uttering and measuring each word as if it were an experiment, a test to find out its capabilities. The women was smiling innocently, as if she knew some great joke that was terrible funny. "It was quite troublesome - until-"

"Thank you," the bad man said, feigning politeness, "but we've already overcome the problem."

"Independence, lovely." The women clapped her hands together, eyes moist with a vicarious pride, as if she were handing the Triwizard cup to a valiant, virtuous hero.

"Er, did you want something?" the bearded bad man, apparently the leader of the pack, spoke with a certain amount of trepidation, as if he were unsure as in to what he was dealing with.

"Yes, my music, look-" the girl pointed proudly at a badge on her chest which read 'Orchestra member 3'.

The three men looked at her incredulous. The girl nodded in agreement. "I know, third the one with the hairy chest, it's a conspiracy though, I assure you. I mean look-"

She twirled around in her uniform. "Brown. A terrible colour for the situation. It stimulates the appetite. How is one supposed to play and eat at the same time? We'll all end up getting fat, which will then attract the Nargles because they like to nest in fat, but of course you already know tha-"

"Please leave." one of the bad men said, emotionless, apparently reaching the end of his patience. Grace watched in horror as the man pointed his wand at the women from inside his sleeve.

The women was oblivious to the warnings, clapping her hands to together as if in celebration of a great discovery. "Ah, travel sickness, mood swings, you're obviously carrying Nargle eggs inside your ears," her voice took on a solemn edge as she trailed of for a moment, before returning with her trademark exuberance, "but don't worry, you can get rid of them before they hatch."

"Huh?" said one of the men, subconsciously touching his ears.

"Father came up with a wonderful remedy, it was successful for myself, as you can see."

The women tapped her chin lightly, eyes rising to the ceiling apparently in deep thought. Grace watched as the women lightly licked her teeth, as if she were preparing the words. "HHhhhmm.... yes, that's right. Shall we? All you have to do is take off all your clothes, tie yourselves up, and hang from the roof for a day or two. Look," the women ran over to Grace, delighted, "you already have rope."

Grace felt the women tug on the rope slightly, and unless it was her imagination, it began to loosen; not enough for it to be noticeable, but Grace felt that she could now move of her own accord. In her euphoria at being set free, Grace didn't notice slight movement coming from the stack of instruments.

The leader of the group, the man with the beard, was now seething The women seemed unperturbed by his anger, in fact, her expression seemed to suggest that she expected it. "Don't worry, I won't look, I'll even - accio wands - turn off the light."

The last thing Grace saw before the Lumos spell ended was the smiling face of the women as she winked at Grace.

Grace's mother found herself in an equally undesirable position. Sighing to calm her nerves, Mrs Perkins watched the gruff vigilante pace beside her. He would occasional mutter obscenities about the other women in the carriage and it distressed her to no end. The carriage was, as the gruff man with the beard had called it, 'occupied until further notice'. Unfortunately for Mrs Perkins, she knew exactly what that further notice was, the retrieval of her little girl. Mrs Perkins was about to request a glass of water when the one sight she hadn't wanted to see appeared, her little girl ran into the carriage, fanfare and all, trying to look terrified.

"Mum, Mum there's a bad man, he's coming!"

Mrs Perkins rose on instinct, opening her arms for her daughter to jump into. She could smell the sweat from her daughter as she embraced her tightly, feeling Grace's chest heave with exhaustion. Mrs Perkins stroked the girl's head, muttering comforting words for her benefit as much as her daughters.

The rest of the the carriage turned to the commotion where Grace had vacated. A man confined in black robes sauntered into the room with an affected gait, smiling sinisterly. Mrs Perkins gasped in terror, as did the rest of the carriage. It was Harry Potter.

"Evanesco," he whispered, flicking his wand deftly, using the least amount of effort required. The stream of thinly veiled arrogance strolled towards the gruff vigilante, who was still too stunned by the arrival to do anything over than gasp as the spell connected, toppling him to the floor as he vanished.

Mrs Perkins' eyes rose as she stared at the monster, the arrogance, the callousness of the man! She watched his face form into a half-sneer, as if fully sneering wasn't worth his time.

Gasps and cries for mercy flooded throughout the room as people wailed and pleaded, clasping their hands together in forgiveness.

"I don't want you," he said simply, eyes only for Grace.

Mrs Perkins' body tensed, gathering her courage, she charged to her daughter's side, shielding her from this monster. The bastard could have anyone except for her. "No, please! Leave her alone."

Harry looked bored by the display of motherly love, rolling his eyes he easily pushed the women away. Without hesitating, he wrapped his hands around the young girl's neck. The girl didn't struggle, apparently frozen with fear. Harry felt the warmth of her skin under his grasp, so fragile...

Harry stopped suddenly, relinquishing his grasp. He looked around the room leisurely, making everyone shrink into their seats.

He closed his eyes, laughing a little in amusement as he shook his head. "Luna? Why don't you come out instead of cowering away."

Nearby people shrieked as a blonde haired women jumped into the carriage from an open window, landing gracefully in a fighting stance, hand outstretched, legs crouched.

Harry snorted. "You're going to fight me?" The concept seemed to amuse him greatly.

Rubbing his chin, he mulled the idea over. "You're crazier than you look," he said after a time, smiling as he raised his wand deliberately, matching Luna's stance.

"Impervious," he muttered, his body glowing momentarily as the protective spell took affect. He smiled at Luna, dripping with sarcasm. "Would you like me to do you, as well?"

There was a long drawn out period of silence, no one in the room dared to move as the two combatants stared each other down, both seemingly quite content to wait for something only they were aware of. Harry shattered the silence.

"Reducto," he snarled, arrowing his wand at the roof Luna was directly under. A precise entanglement of power erupted from his wand at an invisible speed. The roof under Luna collapsed, but not before she nimbly dodged, sliding under a nearby table, much to the distaste of the current occupants who tried to kick her away before they fell prey to the monster's rage. Too late.

"Hiding again," Harry spat, banishing the nearby passengers away with annoyance. This was the que for the whole room to dash for a desperate escape. Harry made no move to stop them, only flicking his wand at the little girl, immobilising her legs with a simple 'Locomotor Mortis'. Mrs Perkins could only look on in horror, nursing her ankle that had been injured in her fall. She watched as the distraction proved costly, the young women let loose a blinding light from her wand, the glare temporarily blinding the monster. Yes, Mrs Perkins urged, that's it. The women jumped from the table she'd been under, delivering a stiff kick to the temple of the bastard. Mrs Perkins gave a satisfied smile as she watched the monster topple to the floor, but he did not cry out. Rolling to absorb the fall, he immediately conjured a thin ball of ice, moistening the ground. The women didn't have time to adjust as she stumbled on the ice.

"Fiendfyre," the monster screamed in ecstasy, sensing the sweet taste of victory. Mrs Perkins gasped as the fiery ball of death hurtled relentless to the poor women, but she needn't have worried. The women pointed her wand downwards, quickly murmuring, "Deprimo". Cleverly getting rid of not only the ice, but the entire floor where she was standing. Falling through the hole, the fire spell crashed wastefully into the wall of the carriage, rupturing it, forming a massive five foot hole that was evidence of its power.

"Shit" the monster snarled, but he didn't look annoyed in the slightest. His expression horrified Mrs Perkins, he was pure evil as he continuously began unleashing the same fire spell at different areas of the floor at random, she watched as he licked his lips, eyes ablaze with the red of the spell he was casting. He was completely lost inside his own world, seemingly desperate to see the poor girl burnt to a crisp.

Then suddenly, Mrs Perkins' own daughter let out a battle cry as she, immobile legs and all, bit down on the monster's ankle. He cursed, kicking her away, but the distraction momentarily interrupted his tirade, allowing the women to mutter from a window, "Finite Incantatem".

The monster laughed, watching as the spell bounced harmlessly off him to the ground below. "Getting your spells mixed up, eh, Luna? Or maybe you're just underestimating me?"

Harry motioned for Luna to come back into the carriage. The women looked around, apparently frustrated by the insult, then, no, she ran, climbing to the roof. Mrs Perkins heard the unmistakeable footsteps of a women running. She fired one last spell, "Obscuro", darkening the area, no doubt to facilitate her escape. The coward, Perkins thought, leaving her here with this savage!

The monster snickered. "What's wrong, Luna? We didn't even get started." He chuckled lightly to himself, Mrs Perkins was dismayed, head lowering as the gravity of the situation overtook her. He was apparently satisfied to let the coward go as long as he got her daughter - wait, Perkins scanned the room, where was she?

Harry heard her gasp. Frowning he followed her gaze, then cursed loudly, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Finte Incantatem," he muttered, almost with admiration, "reversal to the leg binding jinx."

He allowed himself a smile, although there was an undercurrent of frustration indicated by the narrowing of his eyes. "Clever, Luna," the monster whispered to himself.

Perkins was relieved that the monster had forgotten all about her as she listened in to his final words before he walked away. "But I never stop."

*********************************************

Groups of mercenaries, hitwizards and others that operated solely on where the next pay check was coming from spilled out into the corridors, game faces on as they rested their hands on their wands, all pretences of civility dissipating like steam from the train. Whether in groups or individually, they secured positions that left them impervious to attack, while still ready to move if necessary - as expected of people at their price and reward. They were value for money.

They all gathered outside a nondescript door that they would have otherwise paid no attention to. The fact wasn't lost on anyone as they all silently fought for dominance of the same corridor - something was amiss. It was a rare sight to see so many of their craft gathered in one spot - it wasn't a sight advised for those possessing a weak disposition.

"What are you doing?!" Yells and grunts of recognition echoed throughout the corridor as the atmosphere grew with a certain intensity. An expectancy that trouble was approaching, next door even. It was a predicament they were well versed in dealing with. A battle of patience. Trench warfare. Who would crack first? Who would make the first move? The first mistake? These men and women weren't beyond killing off a few of there own - collateral damage - whatever you wanted to call, it meant more profit for a few, than a small amount for many.

The door opened enigmatically of its own accord. A famous sax courtesy of Glen Miller welcomed them, a warm glow of yellow emanating from the room gave it a surreal feeling. In a bizarre moment of befuddlement, mercenaries and nefarious schemers of all walks of life for once were on the same page as the walked, as if in a trance, into the bar. They were certainly in the mood for answers.

"What the hell is this!" was the sum of what was shouted, in a slightly more vulgar way of course.

"Your benefactor is dead," said a voice from behind the bar counter. Charlie smiled benevolently at the prying eyes.

All wands pointed on impulse at Charlie who gulped, bemoaning the fact that so many found it so easy to threaten one as innocent as he.

"Not by me, I hasten to add," he said, stammering slightly as he waved his arms in a conciliatory gesture.

"Give us a reason why we shouldn't just kill you now, and search your corpse?" one of the men at the front said with contempt, practically foaming from the mouth.

"Well, you see, you could do that, but what do you fine people value over all else?"

"Booze," one shouted heartily, making a few chuckle.

"I know what I value," said another at the front. His tone was not humorous as he made a show of stomping over to Charlie, aiming his wand at Charlie's chest, smiling malevolently. "Money, and lots of it."

Charlie eyed the wand carefully. "But you see, what good is money - or booze - if you're dead?"

This only incited anger, vociferous anger, from the group as they considered the comment a slight on their skill. Violence threatened to boil over as they all moved closer to the bar, malicious intent evident as they cornered Charlie. He hated this! This was Harry's way of working, diving in unprepared, not his!

"Eh... I apologise if I slighted you, that was not my-"

Charlie was interrupted by a side door, which none of the mercenaries had noticed creak open, indicating that it was used sparingly. Luna Lovegood, with a young girl shielded behind her, entered the bar.

"Ah, Luna, any suggestions for our current predicament?"

The girl paused for a brief second, eyeing up Charlie's potential executioners, before continuing her pilgrimage to the counter where the drinks were readily available and on view. "We are in a bar."

"Yes, Luna, very observant of you," Charlie sighed exasperatedly, rubbing a hand through his ginger hair, "but what should we do? We need to inform them of the plan and they don't seem very... receptive."

"We are in a bar," Luna deadpanned again as she sat herself down, patting the chair next to her to encourage the girl to join her. Luna began mixing a glass for herself, a strange concoction that looked neither nutritious, nor pleasant. The placidity of the drink was disturbed as Luna stirred it with a spoon she'd gotten from her pocket. Why she had a spoon in her pocket was beyond Charlie as he watched the drink cough gases in protest of the ministrations. Halting without warning, Luna placed the spoon back into her pocket without drying it.

Luna mumbled an indecipherable toast, pointing her glass downwards slightly so some spilled on the carpet. The precocious girl sighed longingly as she silently counted the bubbles in her drink, eyes up close, they appeared almost twice the size in the reflection of the glass, giving her the appearance of a crazy Muggle scientist, at least from Charlie's view.

An unspoken rule was passed along the room, everyone watched Luna count the bubbles in a bizarre display of semi-reverence. United for the second time in their incredulity. If someone had, by precarious chance, entered this particular bar, they'd most likely mistake these mercenaries as siblings, such was the similar picture of confusion on their faces.

Luna reached a number she appeared satisfied with, completely oblivious to the fact that all eyes were on her. The little girl was not so oblivious, however, and tugged on Luna's sleeve nervously.

Luna titled her head before her mouth formed into an 'o' of understanding. She deftly leaned over for another glass, pouring half of her concoction into the new glass. Luna's lips curled proudly, as if she'd just committed a great deed. She offered a glass to the girl, who, not wanting to appear impolite, took it on impulse.

With enthusiasm, Luna gulped down the drink with consummate ease. The 'drink' was efficacious in drowning her thirst as Luna's cheeks were aglow with fulfilment.

Charlie continued watching as Luna began preparing a new concoction with renewed vigour, while the girl nursed hers gingerly, not sure what to do with it.

"Luna, you do remember there are other people in this room?" Charlie said, eyeing up the 'audience' warily. Luna jumped slightly, eyes focusing on Charlie as if it were a difficult task. Luna tutted in disappointment, preceding to wave her drink free hand delicately around the room. No one waved back. It appeared the spell they had all been under was slowly lifting.

A cauldron stirred in Charlie's head. He remembered Luna's ambiguous words earlier. "Right, okay, what the hell: drinks all round!"

An unrestricted cheer of joy echoed throughout the train. Charlie sighed, mourning the disappearance of common sense in the world as he began serving out drinks. He watched as the room slowly slipped into inebriation. Firo and his sister - wherever they'd come from - and a few other unscrupulous mercenaries caused an uproar by singing vulgar songs that insulted most and offended the rest.

He hated that bloody girl... and her bloody Nargles. How was he supposed to inform these people of the event that was about to unfold? They'd be sitting ducks, worse drunk sitting ducks, if this was allowed to continue.

"We have gathered all you fine combustible elements here today for one reason." Charlie paused for a moment, sucking up the atmosphere as he tried to gather the attention of the room.

As if in reply, the train gave quite a large jerk, making him lose his grasp on the drink he'd been refilling. Suffice to say, Charlie now hated bloody trains as well.

One group of mercenaries weren't enjoying their drinks, leaving them forgotten in the sea of rowdiness as the trio gathered around a nearby table. They liked to think they were experienced, and could sense foul play a mile away. Tesse expression remained guarded as she listened, tying her hair into a tight and practical pony tail. Lies, the train reeked of them.

"Help me, save me!"

Tesse frowned as she stared at the hand-held mirror, brown sombre eyes filled with countless possible scenarios.

"They aren't responding to the cards?" her partner, Sarok, an Asian with a habit of blowing things up said, eyes equally conflicted.

"We have to go check it out," the senior member of their group, a weathered man with white hair and multiple scars decorating his face decided, breaking them from their lull.

"Yeah," Tesse said absently as she put the mirror back into her cloak.

They had a vague idea of where their comrades had been on their last contact; moving along in silence, they stopped abruptly when a man ran past them screaming his head off. They heard another scream from nearby, and the unmistakable bang of a gun. Tesse's eyes nearly popped out of her head with the strain. Guns, here of all places?

"Let's go," Tesse said, taking the lead with added urgency. They didn't have to wonder for long what the man had been running from, they just had to follow the blood, which was growing more and more frequent as they continued.

"This was where they last made contact, " Sarok said numbly, eyeing up the corridor they had just entered. Whatever colours the walls had been before was now forgotten. Red dripping slowly from every crevice. Two white cloths were placed out on the carpeted floor, and there was no doubt as in to what it was covering. Bodies.

Tesse sighed grimly as she prepared to inspect them, fearing the worst.

"I wouldn't recommend that."

Out of surprise, they each fired spells in the direction of the voice. Turning rapidly, a blue shield rippled with the effect of the spells, absorbing two of the spells but flickering slightly as it collapsed, leaving the creator of the shield a spilt second to dodge the last one. He muttered distastefully as he regained his footing, brushing off some imaginary dust from his conductor's hat that was slightly sizzled around the edges. Tesse inspected the man, he'd obviously gotten changed in a hurry, his shirt wasn't buttoned up and the trousers looked creased; not the appearance one would expect from a man of his profession.

"Who are you?" Tesse demanded first, prepared to fire again if the answer didn't meet her satisfaction.

"Harry Potter," he said flippantly as he walked past them, but he didn't appear to be threatening them, walking down the corridor past the bodies.

"Yeah, funny, real funny," Sarok's sarcasm turned to horror as the boy calmly stepped through the door of the next carriage, marked by a particularly large pool of blood.

"What the hell-" the protest died in his throat as they all rushed to peer into the room over the man's shoulder. The first thing that got his attention was the blood. Again, but this time spelling out words that they couldn't quite make out. Tesse frowned, straining her vision, it was everywhere, the same phrase. On the the roof, walls, furnishing, as if something had been spraying but, no...

"Were these your friends?" the man who claimed to be Harry Potter said as he closed the door to the carriage. Harry lifted the cloth on one of the bodies, revealing the corpse beneath.

Their silence was answer enough, Sarok stared numbly at the sigh of his subordinates lying motionless, almost as if they were sleeping. Their skins were deathly white, and they looked... transparent.

Harry adjusted his glasses, eyes hard. "To put it simply, they've had their insides removed."

"What sort of..." but the stranger was too busy with his own musings to listen.

"But this is weird," he said, glowering at the room as if it was hiding something from him. "It's all very..." he searched for the right word, but couldn't find it.

"They're smarter than this, it's almost like they're sending a... meh, dunno." Harry pondered absently. He looked at the cloth, facial muscles contorting in disgust as he inspected it. "And why put white cloaks over their faces, I mean how blatant is that, this one's obviously an amateur." He shook his head in a mixture of disgust and disappointment.

"They," Tesse murmured as she picked up something from his earlier words, immensely curious.

Harry didn't notice the greedy glint in her eye, mistaking it for fear. "Don't worry, they won't be back for a while, it's a stunted process."

"Well, we have to report this!" Sarok said with a sudden urgency.

Harry snorted, the man's righteous tone a trademark of cringe worthy acting. "I can tell you're not Aurors so don't pretend to be, and I know what's in this room." He paused to let them absorb his words before continuing:

"Your men are dead... and you will be too if you don't get back to the bar. This isn't your fight. Go back to robbing small fry."

"How do you know about the bar?" Tesse said immediately, frowning suspiciously with such vehemence that Harry thought it must give her a hell of a headache.

"Just stay away from the windows and strap yourselves in, you won't find any profit here, only death." The stranger exited as fast as he had come, opening the carriage that they had previously peered into. He leaned on the doorway, aware that they weren't leaving, he turned towards them one final time before closing the door.

"See it's fine, go to the bar - nothing to worry about by the way. It'll be worth your while. Promise."

**************************************************************************

Adam's eyes opened drowsily. His head felt like it had been split in two, not to mention the putrid stink that was coming from somewhere nearby. It smelt like... Adam froze, directly below him... crumpled in a heap...

"Sir!" he cried out, dropping a gun he hadn't been aware he was holding. The dull thud as it landed on the carpet alerted him to its presence.

"Wha-?" he said stumbling, he began to panic. What the hell is this? What happened? What! He lost control of his breathing, falling to his knees, he crawled over to the fallen Benjamin.

"Please, sir, please wake up!" Logic abandoned him as he began sobbing uncontrollable, unsure whether to touch him, to confirm that it wasn't an allusion.

"Sir," he finally whimpered as he grabbed Benjamin; shaking him as one would with a new born baby, a tenderness in his movements. Adam tried to gulp down his fear, tried to sound comforting.

"Please, sir. You have to wake up. Remember, remember the retirement, remember it, well, you have to wake up don't you? Otherwise it won't happen." No response. Adam began to grow annoyed, why was he pretending to sleep, why wouldn't he answer? Had he done something wrong? Upset him in some way?

"Wake up, wake up, wake up," he continued the mantra as he held onto Benjamin tightly, believing that if he just kept on holding, Benjamin would surely wake up and snort at the attention. He almost failed to notice the door knob turning.

Adam kept one arm around Benjamin as he leapt for the gun, not knowing what he was doing, but knowing that he had to do something.

"Who's there. Who are you!?"

A man peeked his head through the door, as if he were entering a sleeping man's bedroom. He didn't seem to notice Benjamin as his eyes scouted round the room. He briefly locked eyes with Adam, so briefly, that Adam was convinced the man hadn't even seen him.

The man at the door turned his head.

"... It'll be worth your while. Promise."

Adam heard murmurings from outside and then footsteps that receded into nothing. He had expected the man to leave too but he walked fully into the room, revealing that he wasn't only a head. Most ominously, he locked the door behind him.

"Tredecim animus... mos addo terminus," the strange man whispered under his breath, looking at the writing on the walls. Crap! Adam looked around him, everywhere, the same words. Adam was unsure what to do, he was afraid that if he broke the silence, the man would erupt, and...

The man began walking towards them, he was looking not at him, but at Benjamin. Something twisted inside Adam's heart. He raised the gun.

"Stop it, who are you!?" He stood up, pressing the gun to the man's chest as he halted.

"Wow," the man said, holding up his arms quickly, "I'm not a problem." The man - no, he wasn't a man, well if he was, he certainly was a young one - smiled innocently, an expression that was incongruous to his position. It was him, Adam thought wildly, he's the monster. Only someone who could smile in the face of death could... could. Adam couldn't bring himself to say it. He directed his anger at the man, no, the monster. Pressing the gun to his chest, reminding him of who was in control.

"What are you doing here?" Adam said, voice laced with venom.

The man pointed to, Adam finally noticed, his conductor's hat!

"I'm a conductor," the man smiled, mistaking Adam's surprise as a compliment. "I was just going around with my duties, you know-"

"You can't be! There are only two conductors assigned to this trip!"

The man looked at Adam and then the fallen Benjamin realising his predicament.

"Ah, damn, I hate it when she's right."

The man shrugged his shoulders, cheeks flushed slightly as he took off the hat, almost as if he was changing into a different person.

"I said a conductor's job would be the best but she wasn't having it. Wanted to be musicians, musicians! Who talks to musicians anyway, 'cept for other musicians." The man chuckled lightly, rubbing his unruly hair that was quickly awakening.

Adam wasn't sure if it was from exhaustion or grief, but the plethora of emotions he was experiencing got the best of him. The job. Benjamin. This man. The gun. The monster. Benjamin.

He dropped the gun, this time not even hearing the landing as his sobs overtook everything.

"I'm sorry," a voice said, it came from the direction the man was in, but it definitely wasn't from that callous monster. Adam wept into his hands, not knowing what to do, what to think. He let his mind drift into complete nothingness as he drowned in his despair, what was the point anymore?

"He was a good man and you killed him," Adam said numbly, not even accusing him, what was the point now? It was too late.

"It wasn't me," came the prompt, matter-of-fact, reply.

Adam stared into the man's eyes, no, he fell into them, looking for any hint of deception. Adam believed him.

"Do you know who did this?" Adam said slowly, that was all he cared about now.

"I do now."

Adam nodded, hands fixed together in silent prayer. "Please..."

The man looked at Adam's eyes reluctantly, reading the unsaid plea; it was impossible to avoid, such was the desperation behind Adam. The man shook his head gently, looking at Benjamin as he spoke:

"I don't kill over grudges and personal vendettas. All it does is create more grudges born of hate, it never stops. Only kill when it's necessary, that's my philo... that's what I believe."

"But-"

The man stopped as he put one leg through the window. He nodded at Adam. "It's necessary."

"Oh, and by the way," he said finally, peering back through the window, "the gun's out."

Adam looked down at the gun on the floor. How could the gun be empty if he hadn't used it? He opened his mouth to ask the man, but Harry was gone, moving on as always.

Harry was relieved to be leaving Adam's presence, he still wasn't good with grief, it wasn't something he could ever really get used to. Harry instead focused on matters he was effective at. He wasn't familiar with the speed of steam trains to judge how fast they were currently going; Harry knew enough however to surmise that falling off now would be bad news. He supposed Charlie would know the speed down to the last decimal point, no doubt he would probably curse him for not 'checking every variable'. Harry didn't care. Charlie wasn't here, Harry would have to deal with it his way.

As Harry struggled out of the window, he felt the wind slash at him like an icy whip. He gathered his footing; if he could balance on a flying broomstick then he could damn sure do this. Harry looked at the countryside blazing past, remembering how he'd often absently stare at it. It showed how much he'd changed, now Harry only saw certain death at the possibility of falling.

He tried to control his untenable hair as it blew wildly, obscuring his vision... but that had been a losing battle since day one. Harry finally let go of the train and let himself be supported by his own two feet. The train gave an old jolt every once and a while, but he felt that he'd gotten the hang of it.

Now he looked ahead of him, at a sight he'd been trying his best to avoid.

"You shouldn't have come here, Harry," it said, standing perfectly as if it was one with the train. Harry took an involuntary step towards it, not making a sound as he slipped slightly. They were only a carriage lengths apart, and Harry should have been relieved that he didn't have to walk far, but that was the last thing on his mind.

The setting seemed incongruous to the scene, the ideallic countryside resting tranqually all around them, as if mother earth was mocking the futility of their actions. Harry heard screams from down below and his first instinct was to help. It didn't react however, so neither did he.

He drew out his wand, the weapon he'd sworn an oath never to use. Oh well, promises are meant to be broken - Charlie would've said something like that. He'd broken most long ago, that included.

But there was one promise that Harry refused to break. He stared at it with revulsion. The eyes of Albus Dumbledore stared back.

And then, it spoke, "The distance between Platform 9¾ and Hogwarts castle is 487 miles, correct?" The voice was detached, languid. Harry was aware that it already knew perfectly the answer - like it was talking to a child, well, from its perspective it was. That's what worried him. Prudent, even with words, they wouldn't waste a breath unless they knew it was already over.

Harry's fists clenched, lips curled as an icy rage cascaded down his back, reassuring his balance. Even the wind across his face seemed to blow more urgently, as if it was also running out of time.

"Shut up!" he said, almost petulantly. Even his voice seemed to be weaker in the wind, as he struggled to both breathe and speak. It opened its mouth again.

"We are currently 2.68 hours or 165 miles from the designated destination, correct? Look to your right."

Every word was like a thinly veiled insult, prodding away at Harry like a thousand needles piercing his skin.

Harry knew it wouldn't attack him while he was distracted; they were above such 'simplistic' methods. Like watching a car crash, morbid curiosity got the best of him as he glanced over the edge of the train, he'd been so entranced he hadn't even noticed.

It provided commentary to accompany his view. "In this stage of its journey, the Hogwarts Express crosses over the River Derwent, as your crude optical device can see."

Harry could see where this was going.

"There are 1,268 passengers on board..."

Then, several things happened at once. Like a gun starting a sprint, a carriage not four or five away from him exploded. Then the debris. Then the exclamations. Then the rustle of magic. Then the cries of despair. The screams. The pain.

The train began to tilt to the right and Harry held on for dear life, gripping onto any crevice that would have him. Then the groan. The agonizing turn. The fall. A sea of blue swallowed his vision, and everyone on board, except three.

An old women's words from earlier lingered in the air with a pregnant melancholy. "Only the lucky will survive... and those not human."

Harry cursed desperately as oblivion approached. How did it end up like this?


	3. What Would Dumbledore Do?

Disclaimer: Just another fanfic to add to the pile...

Author's Notes - Hope you enjoyed the two chapter preview of what's to come. Now I just have to worry about getting there in one piece... Sorry the chapter is a bit short, but I needed to post this simultaneously with chapter two. Fourth should be out by Saturday.

Shamo9

This isn't a slash fic...

* * *

Harry Potter - Unite or Fall

Back to the Start

Chapter Three - What would Dumbledore do?

* * *

Date: August 2nd, 1996 11:30 PM

What would Dumbledore do, Remus thought as he made his way to the Headmaster's office. He'd been having a tough time re-registering his account at Gringcotts, even goblins were wary of werewolves and their 'explosive nature'. It was getting to him, the slow, frustrating, progress, particular with the condescending snobbery the goblins exuded in bucket loads. When Dumbledore had contacted him, Remus had jumped at the chance of a momentary reprieve. He called the password enthusiastically before bowing his head slightly to fit into the gradually escalating stairs. It was deathly silent from the outside, but Remus politely knocked anyway.

"Come in."

There was one sight in the room that troubled Remus beyond all else. Albus Dumledore. He looked, quite frankly, old. Certainly Dumbledore was no young man; being the wrong side of 100 would most certainly have its negatives. Remus himself was beginning to feel the strain of time, when he'd found himself searching for wrinkles rather than spots, he'd realised just far he'd come. Werewolves tended to have shorter life spans by simply the life style alone, not even considering the toll the transformation took on the body. Indeed, Remus couldn't even comprehend an age past 100, but this was different, this was the indomitable Dumbledore.

Despite his years, Dumbledore had always been an uplifting presence. He seemed as jovial and lithe as someone half his age, a perpetual twinkle in his eye gave him the image of a close friend rather than a grandfather, at least to Remus. He'd looked up to the man, idolised and admired his brilliance, but no, even Dumbledore's starkest critics did that. Dumbledore was something much much more to Remus. He represented hope, hope in his darkest hour that he could make something of himself, that he could overcome his... 'condition'.

To see that hope, well, vulnerable, it left Remus with an acrid taste in his mouth. Dumbledore had gone from an uplifting presence to being downright - uncomfortable. Like a headless chicken that didn't quite understand it was dead yet; Remus tried to let himself be distracted by Fawkes as he seated himself, but even the bird looked battered and windswept.

Remus tried not to let his feelings show. "Professor..." he said slowly, hoping that the word might spur Dumbledore into action.

The reply was not as immediate as he had hoped.

He tried again, even more delicately, as if any sudden noises would break the man. "Professor-"

"I've called for an Order meeting in two days at 7.00."

Startled by the explosion of words, Remus was left unbalanced.

"That's... abrupt," he said, blinking like a fish out of water.

Dumbledore was oblivious to Remus' bewilderment; any apparent tiredness drowned out by the seriousness of his tone. "I'm afraid we are currently in grave peril."

"Is this about the Askaban rai-"

"That is insignificant," Dumbledore said as he readjusted his spectacles.

Remus bulked, what event could possible make a raid on Askaban seem insignificant? Remus felt the temperature drop as he turned a fine sheet of white. Aware that Dumbledore was expecting something of him, Remus shook himself, frustrated that he was embarrassing himself in front of his idol.

"Forgive me, but, was there a reason you summoned me? You could have informed me of the meeting-"

"I need you to bring Harry to the meeting."

Once again a short sweeping statement left Remus befuddled. "What, Harry, why?!"

"It is better if you hear tomorrow. I have other arrangements that unfortunately occupy me for the time being."

Remus had an ardent desire to ask Dumbledore what was really bothering him, to be the confidant that he had always been to Remus. Instead he nodded rigidly, accepting the task.

"Professor, I - well, accommodation..." he didn't want to say it, even in front of Dumbledore. It was something he had coped with by not having to directly cope with.

"You can stay at Miss Figgs, a Squib, house across the street from Harry tonight. Prepare him for the meeting, he can get a bit 'excitable'." Dumbledore looked pointedly at the state of his office.

"Dumbledore, I..."

"I have already informed her, she would consider it an offence if you refused now." Dumbledore smiled pleasantly, which made his next outburst all the more shocking.

"And please deal with that child!" Dumbledore spat, glasses falling off his face as he snarled with animalistic rage.

Remus stood stunned, his worry turning to unadulterated fear. Had Dumbledore, the Dumbledore really just uttered those words? For his part, Dumbeldore too looked shocked at his own outburst, eyes wide, veins pulsing with apparent strain. Dumbledore seemed to be muttering words under his breathe that calmed him. Remus noticed him flexing his fingers surreptitiously.

Dumbledore hung his head, staring at his fallen glasses, laying tangled on his desk.

"I have adjusted the Hogwarts wards for your convenience so apparate at your leisure. Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Right away, professor!" Remus obediently turned for the door, thoughts awash with questions. He could come of with many possible scenarios serious enough for such a meeting, all the while trying to convince himself that he hadn't seen Dumbledore in such a state of...

Remus stood for a moment, not sure if he'd done something wrong without knowing. Dumbledore was already busily writing away on a piece of parchment. Remus continued meekly, the abruptness of the address confusing him greatly. Remus didn't trust himself to say a proper farewell so he continued walking relentlessly, not daring to turn back even when he heard Dumbledore begin to cough violently.

The door closed tightly. Remus couldn't help but sigh with relief, an usual feeling considering the setting. Remembering what Dumbledore had said earlier about the Hogwarts wards, he shrugged, deciding he might as well get this over with. In truth, Remus was reluctant about the prospect of reuniting with Harry. After Sirius... well, Remus was not quite sure where he stood with Harry.

With somnambulist ease he apparated towards his destination, his mind in a similar state to the travelling conditions he was experiencing.

Feeling his feet touch the pavement of Private Drive, he wondered what exactly he was going to say to The-Boy-Who-Lived. He'd talked to him after the incident of course, but that was before the weight of it all had really hit him. Now Harry had had a couple of months to get over his shock, he was worried what mental state the boy would be in. Remus was a battled hardened thirty something who'd long ago accepted that life wasn't fair. Harry on the other hand was merely a child, not a cynical bone in his body, Remus mused. The old adage: 'What would Dumbledore do?' suddenly didn't seem as helpful any more.

Had Lupin been paying attention to the here and now rather than worrying about the welfare of his leader, he might have just been able to detect the silent curse that connected sharply with his shoulder blades. Like a cold hand stroking his back, Remus felt the almost ethereal touch kiss his skin. "Ugh" was all he could muster as his body froze before collapsing in a heap, face licking the bitter concrete.

Remus Lupin's attacker licked her lips as she stared at number 4 Privet Drive - it tasted like destiny.


	4. The Apathetic Alien

Disclaimer: Just another fanfic to add to the pile...

* * *

Harry Potter - Unite or Fall

Chapter Four - The Apathetic Alien

* * *

Diary: Entry Two

_It's kind of weird, thinking about what happened so long ago, hell, you could argue it happened in a different world, a different life. As I think of myself back then, I think of a feline, muscles coiled, whether in fear or anticipation of the pounce - mysterious and ambivalent. The feline would be green._

_I suppose back then I must have felt like prey being stalked by an invisible foe, but now I know that I was only a victim of choice. _

************************************************************************

Date: August 3rd, 1996 9:00 AM

Harry wiped the sweat from his brow, bending over to pick up the fallen newspapers. Mr Hughes effusively apologised for his dog's behaviour - once again. If he was so sorry then he should keep the damn dalmatian on a leach! 'Mr Tidbits' - the dalmatian - stepped haughtily past Harry as if he owned the pavement he'd no doubt relieved himself on countless times.

Harry had heard that pets eventually turn into their masters but in this case, he just couldn't see it. Mr Hughes held a sheepish expression as he continued down the road while his pet possessed a look that read 'be grateful your newspapers was the only thing I chewed in half'.

"Man's best friend," Harry said to himself, snorting. More like 'man's biggest pain in the ass'.

Placing the papers back haphazardly into the trolley, Harry sighed tiredly as he continued to the next house on his list. He still didn't regret taking this job as a paperboy. The incredulous stares he received was something he'd gotten quite familiar with in his short life. He recalled that most in this neighbourhood considered him a 'troubled child', sent away to some mad house where it was hoped he would be... corrected. Quite the contrast to the dutiful Dudley, the bright and determined young man who'd sacrificed so much to accommodate this - villain?

Yes, he supposed that was quite right. He was considered the villain of the piece in this scenario. Interesting. He'd been called many derogatory things over the years: 'attention seeker, 'spoiled brat' even 'a liar', but a villain, that was definitely something to add to the list.

He checked the list he was holding. _Number 60_, that was the next destination. Harry looked around, he was at _number 54_ so it was only a couple of houses away. Other than the number plates, there was no evident feature that distinguished each house. A dichotomy of symmetry, in complete contrast to the wizarding world which was surrounded by eccentrics at every turn. He wondered what that said about muggles and the way they operated.

The sun rose with trepidation in the crisp early morning air, as if it was trying to resist the call to rise. The new light gave birth to shadows that meshed in between the crevices of the houses, much like the spots in the dalmatian he'd encountered previously. The shadows that refused to stay still for long accentuated the houses, giving them a sort of shroud - like they were hiding some imperfections or discrepancies from the past. Harry did not fear what he could not see. He was more worried about the things he could see, the things that would not go away. Like his own shadow, hanging just a few paces behind him.

Harry approached the next house on his list. It had a question mark beside it, indicating that he was supposed to acquire payment from this one. He felt the wind stir slightly as if waking; leaving the trolley on the pavement outside the house, he tried the fence, rusted with years of neglect. It gave a squeak of protest, but at least he made it to the front door without being ambushed by another dog. Harry felt something stick to his shoe, he lifted his leg, expecting to find chewing gum. Instead, he picked it up, it was a postcard - the image on the front looked like a dream destination for any young romantically inclined couple. A beach overlooking a crimson-like sunset, two lovers silhouetted by it in the centre. They looked to be strangling each other rather than kissing, but maybe that was just Harry.

He probably shouldn't read it. Considering the times the Dursleys had invaded his privacy over the years, he knew how irritating it could get but, well, temptation got the better of him. He was a villain to these people after all!

_To my dearest Rachel_

_It is with the greatest regret and profound reluctance that I must announce my departure from Britain. I write in haste for my poor mother has unexpectedly fallen ill with a lethal abruptness. I trust you understand the severity of this news, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my impudence. It is with great sorrow that I contemplate the possibility of never again returning to this benign Kingdom that has offered my person so much - yourself accounting for a large amount of the good feeling. If the worst should happen to my precious mother, I, as the erroneous son, must finally take responsibility, making sure the family name does not reach a debilitated state. I believe, however, that it is through these trials and tribulations that we continue to grow. I pray that not only will you continue to grow, but blossom into your full capacity of beauty and grandeur._

_Yours even from across the Atlantic,_

_Craig Johnstone_

_PS - I have left sufficient funds in a credit card that I hope will sustain you until your dear husband returns.  
PPS - Unfortunately at the time of writing I appear to have forgotten my mother's address, but know that once I am settled I will undoubtedly make every effort to contact you._

Harry whistled loudly. It sounded like the sort of spin Dumbledore would try and pull, the kind that made you feel like you were in the wrong and they some benevolent figure who was doing you a great favour by putting up with it. Utter crap. It appeared this resident... Harry gasped as he heard something crack. He looked down. The credit card was now divided perfectly into two pieces courtesy of his foot. He hastily picked it up, sticking it into the postcard and tucking it under the doormat. Harry stared at the gleaming white door in front of him.

He gave two knocks as Albert, the shopkeeper who he was delivering for, had advised.

Footsteps could be heard from inside. "Can I help... you?" An old women opened the door, her dismay was palpable once she saw Harry, newspaper and list in hand, smiling benignly.

"Miss, I'm sorry for intruding but does a young women live here?"

"No, I'm afraid not, I live alo-" she said rather brusquely. "Why do you ask?"

Oblivious to the old women's discontent, Harry picked up the postcard. The old women caught Harry off guard, snatching it from his hand with ardent greed.

"Sorry," Harry said, shocked at the women's reflexes. "I think that's for a girl named Rachel."

The old women looked incredulous. "I'm afraid... I'm Rachel."

"Huh?"

What the hell was this. That letter was addressed to a young women surely. He studied the old women's facial expressions as her eyes scanned the letter in record time. He was no master of Legilimency, but she wasn't Snape either. Shock. Denial. Anguish. It was all there, her mouth half open in a gasp, then slammed shut as she began to convulse.

Harry thought she was about to have a nervous breakdown. Grimacing slightly, he tried to deliver some comforting words. "I don't think it's that big a deal. You're already, well, you're a bit old to be galli-"

She didn't appear to be listening. "This is impossible... this is... It can't be... I've always wondered..."

She continued to mumble at the postcard, as if waiting for a reply. Harry coughed awkwardly and her eyes darted towards him.

"Where did you find this?" she said, voice laced with malice. "Is this some kind of a sick joke?"

"Joke?"

"Don't play dumb with me, do you think this is funny? Playing with an old women's heart like this? Huh?" She threw the postcard at him with a cry of angry.

"Do you know what I've suffered, what I went through? No, how could you possible know!" She continued barraging him with scathing statements, right hand swinging malevolently.

Harry was dumbfounded. "Why would I joke about this? I don't even know a Craig-"

"Craig Marvin Johnstone died 20 years ago in a plane crash over the Atlantic - you sick, disgusting boy. I've heard the rumours about you, but in my naivety I thought better of you. Now get off of my property before I call the police!"

Harry didn't appreciate getting shouted at, and he hated even more being lied to. There was no way this man could've died 20 years ago. The postcard was brand new, sitting on her porch for God sake!

Defensively he bit back. "Don't you think you're a bit old to be playing ga-"

"A bit old for what - to love! Is that what you're saying?"

"No, no, I-" Crap, her face was now darkening, eyes narrowing, the anger palpable, and it was all directed like a torpedo at Harry.

"Cody!" she said, obviously calling for someone in the house. She said she was living alone! Damn it!

Harry lifted his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Now, I just wanted to talk about newspa-"

The third member of the party joined them. A German Shepherd, teeth bared, came scampering out the house.

With abandon Harry threw the postcard at the dog, taking the fence in one jump, he grabbed as many papers as he could handle, forgoing the trolley, he ran, cursing the creation of dogs as he went.

Harry slowed down once he'd gotten two streets away. He couldn't hear the incessant barking any more so he hoped that was the end of it. What was up with these people and their damn dogs with asinine names? He grimaced as he inspected the crushed newspapers in his hands. They looked in no condition to be read never mind sold. Harry sighed, wiping the now newly formed sweat from his brow. Dropping the wasted bundle into the nearest bin, he scanned the list of newspaper deliveries for a Rachel. He surreptitiously crossed her name from the list. Apparently she didn't want the newspapers!

He placed the one newspaper in decent condition snugly into his back trouser pocket. There's always one, Harry thought with chagrin.

Rubbing his now empty hands, Harry spotted a policeman across the street looking very conspicuous. He kept on stopping and starting, as if deliberating his next move, head fidgeting on his shoulders this way and that. He looked at Harry, pinching the bridge of his nose when he noticed that Harry was aware of his gaze. After a moment's hesitation, the man waved Harry over, now suddenly impatient, as if he'd been waiting all along.

Harry considered ignoring him anyway, but, he thought of the Dursleys' reaction if the police knocked on their door... Shrugging, Harry crossed the road. There was no way that women could've contacted the police so soon - was there?

"Harry Potter, is it?" he asked, as if he hadn't practically ordered Harry over.

"Yes?" Harry answered in a monotone, surprised the man knew who he was but not letting it show. It appeared Harry Potter's spectre touched the muggle World as well.

"You go to St. Brutus' school for problem children don't you?"

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. So there it was. He had probably looked suspicious from the police officer's point of view, out of breath, tossing papers into the bin. He watched as the policeman's eyes took on a guarded edge, as if Harry were a wild animal that would strike without notice. The police offer looked around the street, then back at Harry.

"Do you mind if we go somewhere more private?" he said, pointing at an alleyway. It wasn't so much a suggestion as a demand. Harry nodded, seeing no other alternative.

They walked over, Harry noticed that the police officer stayed two steps behind him, pace rigid and tense.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about the accident involving Mr and Mrs Hanna?" He lifted a gun to Harry's head, eyes narrowed derisively as if he was already anticipating how Harry would lie.

Great, Harry thought sarcastically, wondering when the police in Britain began carrying guns. Something wasn't right here. He felt brick poke into his back as he was squashed slightly into the wall.

He'd had a wand pressed to his head before, but never a gun. He felt the cold barrel press onto his temple like a snowflake vegetating on his head. Harry wasn't sure which he preferred.

He contemplated the situation, the wand in his pocket like a red hot flame, burning his skin. Would he risk expulsion over this? Why was he sounding like Hermione? Why was he even hesitating? This was his life on the line - could he not even summon the power for that?

Harry recalled bizarrely a period from his childhood, his distant past. The times when Dudley had actually let him play in the playground games. They had always played games of war, death, pain and justice. Cops and Robbers is what they called it. He had always been a robber, running from the cops, the good guys. Once he was caught, Dudley would construct a gun with his hand.

"You're dead," he would say, matter-of-factly.

"No, I'm not," Harry would say, he never felt dead - if the dead could feel at all.

After a short argument, Harry would eventually end up on the ground. On his back so the gravel didn't damage his glasses. He would watch the heroes applaud their handiwork as he lay there. For a fleeting moment before the bell rang and the spell was broken, he had thought occasionally, secretly, so this is what death feels like.

Brought back into the present by the increased pressure of the gun, Harry watched as the 'good guy' tried to increase the size differential between them, leering over him - as if it mattered.

The man repeated the question, this time more forcefully, with an affected snarl, spit escaping his mouth.

"Well, yeah," Harry answered. It was better this way, for the man to take the initiative, less likely that a mistake was perpetrated.

"You do! What! What do you know?" the police officer said, voice crackling with excitement as if he'd just hit the jackpot.

"Well, everyone does..." Harry trailed off as he motioned to move his hands. The policeman nodded, eyeing him warily as Harry lifted up the only paper he'd managed to rescue without destroying."They're on the front page."

The grip on the gun seemed to tighten for a moment as Harry felt it shake slightly against his forehead. He actually thought the man might pull the trigger, such was the malevolent look in the officer's eyes, malevolent by its absence. Then the boom of conversation broke the spell as a group of youngsters walked by, far enough away not to look, but close enough to disrupt the 'peace'.

The police officer sighed with resignation, body relaxing. "I see."

The gun lowered from Harry's forehead, and he allowed himself relief from the brick wall, stretching his back. "Can I go?" Harry asked, wanting nothing more than to leave before he was threatened again.

"Hhhmm, just an unfortunate accident, these things happen. Nothing to worry about, I'm sure they'll be fine."

Harry tried not to laugh as he walked away from the police officer who looked distracted and distempered. He'd just had his life threatened, and yet he was struggling not to laugh, just what was wrong with him?

*****************************************************************

"Harry, I've received another complaint." Wheezing breaths rattled around the room.

Harry once again found himself admonished by Albert, the old man who ran the shop he'd been doing the paper round for.

Hhhm, it appeared that old bat didn't beat around the bush. Harry rolled his eyes in nonchalance. "What was it this time?"

The shopkeeper grimaced. "Disorderly behaviour in the form of foul and abusive language."

"I was just commenting on her age."

"Harry, this is the forth time we've received a complaint about you. A new store record." Albert was a frail man, he wheezed lightly with every breath as if it was a smack to the ribs. Harry was sure he was suffering from arthritis as well, considering how he often just sat down, flexing his joints. Harry felt bad for giving him something else to worry about.

Harry reasoned that the only explanation for Albert to even hire him was a result of him only moving two years ago, missing out on some of the gossip involving the 'troubled teen'.

Albert licked his lips, hesitating on his words. "Harry, I'm sorry... but I have to let you go."

"Right," Harry said stiffly, not bothering to hide his irritation.

Albert tried for a cease fire. "Harry, you can't let people get to you, you have to learn to find the right balance-"

Harry was sure Albert intended to say something profound and clever, but he decided to concentrate on the floor as the wheezing breaths became incessant.

Harry declined from commenting that people getting to him wasn't the problem, it was the black cloud that seemed to have found pride and place on top of his head, leaving trouble in his wake.

Harry mechanically traded a few last gasp pleasantries, but in truth he just wanted to - he cringed at the thought - get back to the Dursleys. At least they were upfront with him. They hated him and he hated them. Simple.

He passed the only newspaper he'd been able to rescue to Albert, who looked bemused.

"At least you sold a lot," he chuckled, but Albert paid the price by catching a fit of coughs. It depressed the hell out of Harry. The fact that this man couldn't even laugh, it just wasn't right.

He stood like a voyeur as Albert tried to causally throw the newspaper on the desk, only for it to miss the target completely. Harry returned his attention to the floor. It just wasn't right, an old man that could barely toss a piece of paper, running a shop on his own. Watching Albert struggle without complaint, there was no feeling, just a lurch in Harry's stomach, like he'd digested a great weight that was just sitting there, doing nothing except being a nuisance.

Albert offered him the newspaper as a souvenir.

He left the shop.

*****************************************************************

Harry had been spending more time with Miss Figg than ever before this summer. He supposed it had something to with the revelation that she wasn't 'normal', but actually a Squib. It was like she had put on a new enchanting perfume that made her seem more vibrant, more exotic. Harry nursed the word on his lips. _Squib_. He wondered what it was like. You weren't really a muggle, and not totally a wizard. It was like a master negotiator who had played both sides, picking qualities that he liked from both ends of the bargain, or perhaps more appropriately, the loser of a great battle who had been reduced to accepting any breadcrumbs offered. Most of all Harry wondered if they felt like him, if they felt like they were a jigsaw piece that didn't quite fit, or a painting that was just - missing something.

Unfortunately Miss Figg was no great help with any of these queries, laughing off her childhood as if it were some bad joke that she'd heard while shopping. "I was always just a quiet lass, never craved the attention that my sisters did." This was about all Harry managed to get before he quickly lost interest. Why he still came even though he knew he would be constantly disappointed was an unsolvable enigma to Harry. The sofa covered him in cat's hairs and the tea smelt like stale cat piss but still he came. He supposed he was used to disappoint, like a faithful sidekick their fate seemed interlinked. Inescapable.

Harry put the tea down after another attempted sip, making sure his skin never made contact with the biscuits that looked like some sort of rare weapon of mass destruction. He decided it was prudent not to tell her about him getting sacked, or about the incident with the quasi police officer. She was of a nervous disposition at the best of times, and he didn't want to ease her passage to the grave. She'd given him a strange look today, when he'd knock on the door, usually she would pucker her lips and usher him in, hounding him about all sorts of trivial things. But today she had had a sort of dazed expression, like Neville in Potions when he looked at the ingredients list and realised he had missed something.

Perhaps her peculiar behaviour had merely been because she had a visitor today, an old professor who'd went to the same school as her long ago. Miss Figg didn't often get male visitors so Harry was keenly aware of her increased jitters. Harry watched them reminisce like an indecent voyeur, not sure what to do. The setting down of the tea re-alerted the two old friends to his presence. Abraham, the old school professor, smacked his bald head lightly.

"How rude of us, Arabella. We've forgotten about this young gentleman."

He studied Harry, lips curling into a smile. He glanced over conspiratorially at Miss Figg.

"Do you think I should show him my specimens, Arabella?"

"Oh, those ghastly things, whatever for."

Abraham paid no heed to Miss Figg's distaste, instead trying to get Harry on side. Winking at him, he said, "What do you say, young man? Care to join me?"

Harry nodded. Why not? He had nothing better to do, and if it meant he could distance himself from the deformed biscuits then it certainly couldn't be that bad.

"Follow me then," the old professor said cheerfully as he rised from his chair, laughing slightly at the mutterings from Miss Figg as she stood up as well.

The old man led them to a spare room on the second floor. Harry had never been there before, he looked around, trying not to stare. It wasn't how he had imagined Miss Figg's house to look like. He had expected offensively bright colours for wallpaper, plants, and cats - definitely cats. Instead the floor was dingy, covered in dust; furniture was masked in protective coverings that produced odd shapes in the dark - it reminded him of Grimmauld Place, unused and forgotten. Harry wondered how often Miss Figg even went up here.

The room they were entering was obvious, the absence of dust on the door giving it away. The first thing Harry noticed was the noise, like thousands of little sneezes. He waited as the professor fumbled for the lights.

"There gotcha!" the professor said happily as the light flickered on weakly.

He studied the room in the weak light. There were spiders, snakes, bugs, turtles, a strange birdlike thing he couldn't identify and mice, lots of mice.

The old professor spoke not only with enthusiasm, but with the confidence of someone who was familiar with working an audience, speaking with flair. These specimens were to go to the new Zoology department in London, the old professor's voice was slightly tremulous as he talked of the joy of teaching burgeoning young minds, preparing them for a journey into nature, into life. The old man began to talk in what might as well have been a foreign language to Harry, words such as Nape, Lores, Pronotum, Propodeum and Scutellum filtered through to Harry

He was impressed with Harry's apparent interest with the mice. He said it showed an "acute and vigilante mind" for someone to appreciate the more mundane creatures for what they were worth. He pointed to various areas of their anatomy, his lips moving as he uttered long, encapsulating words that would leave the average throat hoarse. Harry was just interested in the sounds they made, the light incessant sneezing that reminded him of something painful. They were also the furthest away from the snakes.

There were two cases of mice on the same shelf, each containing about thirty or so. They bashed into the container wall, appearing as if they were suffocating, bumping into each other as if blinded by something. They all seemed to want the same thing, trying to climb on the walls of the container, little paws working at a ferocious pace.

The old professor leaned over his shoulder, seeing something completely different.

"It's fascinating don't you think? How they operate. If I were-" he pointed his hand experimentally at the container on the left, teasing lifting the lid, "to take one of these mice and put it into the adjacent compartment. How do you think the current occupants would react?"

He didn't expect an answer, Harry could tell from his slightly humoured tone, but he waited patiently, as if speaking to a taciturn child. Harry noted that he called the containers compartments.

"They would kill the mouse," the professor's voice was deep, shrill, as if he were uttering something both repugnant and deliciously delectable.

"They would smell it out, it would have the wrong, alien, scent. They would bite it to death. Amazing-" the professor gasped before continuing his diatribe, Harry tuned out, focusing on the mice, their little noses quivering on their faces, as it it were a mask, a part attached to them unwilling, a crutch they had to rely on.

Harry thought about what the professor said as the mice continued enduring. He wondered what it felt like, watching your friend getting devoured as you watched on absently - did they even care? Would they watch? Would they just continue climbing as normal?

They continued for a time, the professor gesticulating the various ways in which his field was the greatest, most important. Miss Figg, who'd stayed rooted at the door, eventually gathered her courage, practically carrying the old man out of the room. Harry followed after a beat, hands in pockets, glad he hadn't had to make direct contact with the snakes.

Harry stayed for a couple more hours, Miss Figg reluctant to let him escape without properly "feeding him". Both their appetites were dismembered however when the professor talked in detail of the various anatomies they were stuffing their faces in, paying particular attention to the diseases their body structure was prone to attract.

In truth, the topic of conversation depressed the hell out of him. Two old people reminiscing about a better time. A time that was gone forever, a time they would never get back. And yet they still pined over it. Still smiled about it. Harry nearly felt like crying when he watched Miss Figg struggling to lift the biscuits tray, never mind the professor scratching his bald head where there must have been something, long ago. He wasn't sure why, but it made him feel like dirt, it killed him.

He disengaged himself from a final hug courtesy of Miss Figg, he was just a little disconcerted when she leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Don't worry, I talked to that brutish brother of yours, I told him what a hero you were."

Harry just sighed, he didn't need the added P.R, especially from someone as 'eccentric' as Miss Figg. The fact that she'd called Dudley his brother also put a damper on his mood. He imagined Dudley would have further ammunition to tease him with, even if the sessions had been less frequent this summer. Still, she meant well he supposed, which was more than he could say for some people. He gave a final shake of the professor's hand, who offered to show Harry his collection of spiders the next time he made the trip. Harry noticed from the corner of his eye Miss Figg turning green at the prospect.

He turned and stared glumly at the Dursley house across the street. It matched his glum stare. Home.

Hoping to avoid them for a little while longer, Harry slyly slunk round the side of the house, making sure not to disturb Petunia's gnomes as he made his way to the backgarden. He noticed Petunia kneeling down, tending to her white flowers interspersed in blue Monkshoods

She was whispering reverently to her blasted flowers that she'd been spending more and more time with lately. Caring for them with a tenderness Harry had not thought her capable of - at least outside of 'Duddy-kins', but that was more of a sick obsession than anything else.

Harry did not feel guilty about invading her privacy. She'd done the very same thing more than enough times to him in the past. He took satisfaction in the fact that he was desecrating her little sacred charade, like some spy who would report the sinful act to the authorities.

Petunia's ubiquitous demeanour combined with her superficial soliloquies were vomit inducing in its own right. He strained forward, trying to hear what she was droning on about.

"... And then you'll grow up to be big and strong... watching over us... protecting us. Our little tree of paradise..."

Ugh, vomit inducing was an understatement, he saw from the corner of his eye the white/blue of the flowers shining faintly, almost indecent, a sudden desire to remove them from Petunia's clutches overwhelmed him, he felt pity.

Not being able to stand it anymore, he slide down the wall of the brickwork, finding a patch of grass that suited his needs, under the shadow of the wall so as not to be attacked by the radiating sun. Tree of paradise? Puh, he escaped to his dreams with an acrid taste in his mouth.

He dreamt of mice and flowers. The mice were dissecting the flower trespassing on their territory, it was too old to defend itself, instead just lamenting over the fact that it hadn't died sooner. It was called Petunia.

***********************************************************

Mrs Fletcher diligently trimmed her waist high hedge with about as much enthusiasm on her features as a decomposing corpse. Not four houses away from her, Mr Riordan, an accomplished doctor, washed his Ford Mustang with the ease of a man who'd been partaking in this activity for many a year. His appearance was as immaculate as his newly washed car. He wore the expression of a man who not only was aware of that fact, but was currently revelling in it. During his routine washing he would occasionally hum a tune from an era he was more attune with. Mrs Fletcher would occasionally gaze over her hedge at the gentlemen, who would politely wink back at her, much to Mrs Fletcher's enjoyment.

Like a referee scanning a game for foul play, Mrs Smith spied on the events from a crack in her curtain that she thought was impenetrable. This was a very ordinary August afternoon for Private Drive. A scene that would be played out every week, as reliable as the Sun was hot. It was as if Mr Riordan had planted a 'Nothing to see here' sign at the top of the street on behalf of all its inhabitants. Indeed, this was not a place one would consciously look at, never mind twice. Even the weather was ordinary. The sky empty, temperature so mild that it barely registered.

Of course, the three aforementioned individuals weren't the only residents in the land that was many miles from anywhere interesting. A 16 year old male, who was neither fully a man, nor young enough to be rightly considered a child, sat on his aunt's meticulous but again uninspiring lawn. Many people had different views on Harry Potter. Some saw him as the courageous young hero, the chosen one, just bursting with the power of destiny and power. Others saw him as a vile, insipid obstacle in the honourable path of world cleansing.

He'd encountered a few who considered him an obnoxious, delusional liar with visions of grandeur. Hell, some people just considered Harry Potter a freak. Harry considered himself to be none of the above mentioned, he was just a kid who was along for the ride, even if the destination was more a mystery to him than anyone else.

Although he wasn't quite sure what she thought of him.

"Mummy, he's in the garden!"

The shrill cry of a small, but very loud, girl woke him abruptly. He winced at the brightness of the Sun as conceited eyes looked down at him. Vernon's sister and her spawn had come to visit for a week, much to Harry's displeasure. He hadn't been aware Vernon had another sister other than Marge, so the discovery was less than welcome. The Dursley house was unpleasant enough with just the four of them, now it resembled a circus.

"Mummy, he looks like he's gonna die!"

"Just stay away from him, dear, you might catch something... unpleasant."

The small girl's eyes grew at an alarming rate in fear as she mouthed her mother's words. She ran off in a blur of fright, leaving the boy who just didn't know when to quit lying on the grass, motionless, except for a pair of green almond-shaped eyes that watched the girl retreat into the arms of his uncle's sister.

He blinked, only to be greeted by the incessant laughing of Voldemort, as his eyes gleamed in triumph. Funnily enough, as his uncle's sister closed the door, eyes filled with revulsion at the very sight of him. Harry couldn't decide who was more annoying.

The really irritating thing about the little devil, other than her lineage, was that she was so infuriatingly curious about him. It wasn't a nice sort of curious either, she certainly didn't idolize him or anything. No, Harry got the impression that she saw him as a mildly interesting test subject that she could interfere with at her own leisure. She possessed an even more penetrating gaze than Petuenia, one that would make even Dudley docile. She had no notion of what you did and did not do. At least Dudley had gotten the message to leave him well enough alone, albeit after a decade of bullying and the small encouragement from the somewhat unexpected revelation of Harry possessing magical ability. The girl would be trouble, he knew, and he'd already had enough trouble to last him a lifetime.

Harry returned his attention to staring at nothing. It wasn't like he had anything to do now, what with being sacked and all. He stared intoxicated at something that was just out of reach. It was something intangible that he was half afraid to find for fear of it being unmasked, the secret revealed. Harry felt like he was back in History of Magic, Mr Biggs' ghastly monologue serving as a twisted lullaby to try and lull him into sleep. He could almost hear Ron's heavy snores or Hermione's furious note taking - who only stopped every so often to scowl scathingly at Ron's sleeping form.

Harry had often imagined that the History of Magic class was some sort of test. That Mr Biggs was being purposefully boring to try and get them to doze off. Whoever managed the feat of staying awake the entire year would be greeted by Dumbledore apparating in, fanfare and all, applauding the valiant historians.

God, he could almost hear Hermione's instinctual retort. "You can't apparate into Hogwarts, haven't you read the..."

The last time she'd said that to him was right before... No, he threw that thought away faster than Ron threw down his breakfast. He returned to staring at nothing. The seamless blue sky held no appeal to the weary boy, neither did the billowing clouds, isolated, fluttering aimlessly to the cadence of a higher power's expectations. Harry realized that he shared a bizarre kinship with clouds, they seemed to be floating aimlessly for all intents and purposes. But in reality, they were being pulled along by some inexplicable source that they could neither fight against or accept. Damn, he almost sounded like Luna Lovegood! He shook his head, leaving the clouds in peace before they took his sanity with them.

_Prophecy  
1.  
a. An inspired utterance of a prophet, viewed as a revelation of divine will.  
b. A prediction of the future, made under divine inspiration.  
c. Such an inspired message or prediction transmitted orally or in writing.  
2. The vocation or condition of a prophet.  
3. A prediction._

One of the first activities he'd undertaken when he had returned for the summer was to dig out Dudley's old dictionary, one which Dudley had incidentally almost chewed in half in his mad lust for food during his disastrous 'dieting session'. He had looked up the definition of the word prophecy. Not because he didn't know what it meant, he wasn't a complete idiot, no, he'd been hoping for some small semblance of... hope? Hope that his future hadn't been laid out in front of him, a road that strangely everyone seemed to know except for Harry Potter.

Harry supposed he'd always been left out the loop, being locked in a cupboard for 10 years didn't really inspire a great social circle. Was that all he was... a tool? Something to be used then thrown back into the cupboard after they were done with him? Harry pulled a large chunk out of his aunt's precious lawn and watched the shreds of grass dance in the wind. He really hated the word prophecy. The wizard shifted restlessly, he felt like a dog on a leash, a leash that grew tighter every day. Harry wondered when it would start to choke.

After a while, when his stomach began to protest so loudly he couldn't think, Harry Potter made his way inside. Petunia had just recently stopped her pandering over her flowers, now getting on with washing the floor in the kitchen; Harry tip toed so as not to leave a mark. Petunia yelled enough at him about matters that were not even in his control, no need to pile the misery on unnecessarily. He made it to the fridge, licking his lips.

"Well there's a sight..." Harry muttered, a little in awe. The fridge was empty, yes that's right, Dudley's life support machine was in disrepute. Well, unless you counted a six year old's attempt at baking biscuits food. Harry trailed over the biscuits, sniffing them as if they would suddenly shout out "Eat me!"

The made Miss Figg's attempts look like heaven. Better not, he thought sensibly. Harry heard shouting from the living room, intrigued, he peeked inside, always cautious not to fully expose himself for fear of repercussions. Surprise, surprise, the little loudmouth was moaning again.

"Mummy, come on. I want to go to the Zoo, ppppplllllleaassssseeee!" she said, delivering a long whine that made Harry cringe.

Her mother's resolve was falling faster than the stock market. She glanced at Vernon desperately, pleading for a lifeline. "Oh, very well, Vernon, is that okay with you?"

Way to shirk responsibility, Harry thought bemusedly. Any chance to watch Vernon squirm was certainly enjoyable.

Vernon stuttered slightly, before composing himself, no doubt remembering his ethos about being 'hospitable not philanthropic'. He'd lectured the family long and hard on that fact in the weeks preceding his sisters visit. Now it was time for him to chew on his own diatribe.

"... Of - course, yes, Dudley will be fine, he can walk to the shops and do the groceries himself, can't you Dudley?" Vernon's face was carved into a fake smile, eyes silently pleading Dudley with all his might. Christ, it was like watching a comical poker game where no player wanted to gamble, tossing the responsibility by passing the buck.

Dudley's eyes bulged as he folded his arms stuffily in protest, daring anyone to challenge him. His aunt didn't appear to notice. "Wonderful, thank you, Dudley. Now, shall we, Vernon?"

The presumptuous old bat held out her hand, waiting to be escorted off the premises. She was like Marge but without the damn dog. It was the smug smile from the little girl to Dudley that had Harry's attention. This girl was great! Getting under the skin of Dudley, what wasn't to like. He let out a quiet chuckle in the corridor, amused at Dudley's furious expression.

The girl turned to Harry at the noise and her smile increased tenfold, taking on a near demonic like quality.

"I want him to go shopping too!" She pointed her stubby finger at Harry.

"What!" Dudley and Harry chorused simultaneously, matching looks of horror quickly enveloping their features.

Vernon's sister seemed oblivious to their shared horror. "I think that's a wonderful idea!" she said, ruffling her daughter's hair.

Harry was so enraged he didn't notice something brush his side. She was already at the door by the time he'd turned around, sticking her tongue out at him as a parting gift before exiting the house. Petunia looked like a deer caught in headlights as she looked at her beloved son and... Harry Potter.

* * *

Author's Notes - Have exams next month that will distract me. Next update in two weeks. Thanks for reading.

Shamo9


	5. A Knockout of Confusion

Disclaimer: Just another fanfic to add to the pile...

* * *

Harry Potter - Unite or Fall

Chapter Five - A Knockout of Confusion

* * *

Diary: Entry Three

_What people don't understand is that evil is relative. What's evil to one isn't necessarily evil to another. Since this is a diary, I guess I should write what I think. I suppose I'd describe evil as a sort of liquid. It can be distilled, diluted. It can be boiled, frozen. It grows stale. It is a source of life. I was a bit naive back then about the whole good - evil scenario. Although I suppose everyone was, or at least everyone I knew.  
_

******************************************************************************************

Date: August 3rd, 1996 7:00 PM

Harry cursed silently as he found himself walking behind Dudley, doing - of all things - shopping. His Aunt and Uncle had evacuated the house with expressions that mirrored someone sentencing their son to death. Harry studied his hands absently as he walked. He wasn't in the mood for Dudley. He didn't feel in the mood for anything come to think of it.

This summer had been just as frustrating as the last, although for very different reasons. Instead of being left out the loop, he'd become the loop, a fragile child that one had to tread carefully with, in case he should break and cost them everything. Harry had had a plethora of letters compared to last year, but he hadn't even dared to open most of them, not after that first one that still made his heart sink at the thought. Harry recalled at the start of summer how he'd opened it eagerly, addressed from a Order Member as it was, the prospect of some exciting information was tantalising. That curiosity had been smothered, however, when he'd realised just what it was about: condolences. He hated that. It was ironic that now suddenly everyone wanted to contact him, and yet he just...

Not even news from Ron and Hermione had cheered him up. They'd seem so... false. Like they were trying to coax a dangerous animal. If they just came out and wrote: Sirius is dead, sorry about that, anyway - he might actually be more responsive. At least it would get it out of the way, then maybe he could move on.

Harry could almost accept Sirius' death. It wasn't like he was a prominent figure in his life, but, it was this crap, this awkwardness that was really pissing him off. What worried him most of all was the prospect of things staying crap, of people treating him differently. Not the Boy-Who-Lived differently either, no, the 'your uncle is dead' differently. It was as if Harry had died that night, had died and just didn't know it yet, leaving everyone else gazing on the outskirts warily, waiting for him to find out.

Harry sighed as he caught Dudley looking back to scowl at him, as if to make sure that Harry wasn't plotting any 'freaky' things. Harry really wasn't in the mood.

"Can we try and make this as painless as possible?"

"I hate you, Potter," was Dudley's only response. Well, at least he was honest! Harry ruffled his hair tiredly, then subconsciously reverted to staring at his hands again, one bloody finger at a time.

Snide mutterings from Dudley could still be heard as they continued, well, Harry continued following.

"Bloody Potter, bloody life."

Harry snorted at the contempt Dudley gave when uttering his last name; amused at the images it brought to his mind.

"Malfoy could have you down for gimmick infringement," he said absentmindedly.

"Another one of your freaky friends?" Dudley shot back, looking back for a second to see if he'd found his target.

_Freaky friends_, Harry mouthed silently. "Yeah, I suppose you could call him something like that."

Dudley obviously didn't know how to respond to that directly, so he merely continued his mutterings, Harry zoned out once again, becoming deaf to the noisy traffic jostling past.

"Something wrong with you?" Dudley's voice was unusually quiet.

"Hhhhmm?" Harry mumbled, continuing to stare at his hands.

"You're walking on the goddamn road."

Harry looked up. He was almost across the street from Dudley, who was staring exasperatedly.

"You're weird, even for you," Dudley said as Harry caught up with him. He didn't even complain when Harry walked with him, side-by-side.

"Didn't know you cared." Harry smirked, but it fell a little flat.

"If you go mental then we'll get more of them," Dudley said simply, adding deliberately afterwords, "At least you're not moaning in your sleep this year."

Harry ignored the sly dig; he didn't want Dudley to know that the only reason the summer had been nightmare free was because he simply wasn't sleeping, not at night anyway.

"Have we got any money?" Harry asked on a whim, trying to direct the conversation away from his sleeping habits.

"Shut up, freak."

Harry sighed tiredly, as was customary around Dudley. This was going to be painful.

He noticed Dudley lighting a cigarette from the corner of his eye slyly.

"Petunia would be so proud of her precious Duddy-kins," Harry cowed, attempting to imitate his aunt's terrible irritating soprano.

"Shut up, Potter," was Dudley's only response as he took a blow from his fag. Dudley certainly didn't mice his words.

Harry's mind instantly thought of another being equally as irritating as Dudley: Malfoy. He idly wondered who he would cheer for if Dudley and Malfoy ever found themselves in a fight to the death. Harry quickly decided that that was like asking someone if they wanted strangled or hung.

Dudley stopped abruptly and Harry only narrowly avoided bumping into him. What, the supermarket wasn't this close! He followed Dudley's gaze... and then promptly slapped his forehead.

"We can't shop in this place... It's only a corner shop!"

"I'm not walking all the way to Asda!" Dudley said, incongruously scandalised. "Someone might see us," he added, cautiously looking around him as he opened the door, ornaments jingling slightly at the intrusion.

"Lazy git," Harry muttered, but followed Dudley in anyway.

The Newsagents was stacked to breaking point with all manner of things. One could barely manoeuvre in this place as it was crammed with shelf open shelf. The only living thing around was a black male, no older than Harry, standing behind the counter. He was chewing gum loudly, ear phones firmly in place as he listened to something Harry couldn't discern. Only the loud bass of the music could be heard, and in the otherwise silent shop, it almost seemed to take the place of a heartbeat. A very irritating distorted heartbeat at that.

Dudley ogled at the display of sweats, Harry tried to rouse him by slapping the back of his head.

"Oh, wha- the?" Dudley exclaimed, rubbing his scalp as he stared daggers.

Harry kept a serious expression on his face as he asked Dudley what exactly they were supposed to get.

"I dunno, Dad likes the newspaper..."

Harry offered the newspaper residing in his pocket, Dudley rejected it with contempt. "Can't have that, it's wrecked."

Harry ignored him and went in search of a newspaper. He was dumbfounded, however, by what he saw. Empty shelves? What kind of Newsagents was this?!

"Hey!" he stamped his way towards the teen behind the counter. "What kind of Newsagents doesn't sell newspapers?"

He didn't appear to listening to Harry; head nodding to the obtrusively loud music. Muttering a few notes that were grossly out of tune.

"Hello!" Harry waved his hand in front of the stoic cashier who merely lifted his finger, indicating he would be with him in a minute. Harry harrumphed, tapping his feet impatiently. He heard what sounded like an ending to a song, before the cashier extracted himself. He looked rather groggy, like the music had some sort of hypnotic effect on him.

"What do you want?" he asked rather gruffly.

Harry pointed behind him at the newspaper stall. The teen glanced briefly before shrugging. "Not my problem... You gonna buy anything?" He didn't wait for Harry to answer, plugging his earphones back in.

"It's a shame don't you think?"

He heard a muffled sigh of defeat from behind him. Turning he saw a girl wearing a glum, defeated expression in the face of the empty shelves, biting her nails sporadically.

Was she speaking to him? "Eh... what's a shame?"

"Eh!" the girl shrieked, startled. She tried to recover herself. "Er, what - can I help you?"

Her eyes were large and anxious, hands shaking jarringly. Harry repeated the question.

She breathed a sigh of relief, apparently expecting something beyond description. "Why, there being no newspapers. I often like to read them, just to see how opinion differs." Her eyes now took on a confident, focussed edge; hands still and calm

Harry stared. He knew he was probably being rude but, she'd said that it one breath. That was impressive.

"Do you often shop here?"

"No, I don't usually go, well, sometimes I suppose." Once again she said it all in one breath, the speed of it unsettled Harry.

"Really, I've never seen you before," he said politely, but the girl's lips formed into a thin line.

"Why, were you looking for me?" she asked, Harry noticed her hands twitch defensively. He raised an eyebrow.

"Are you expecting someone to?"

"Erm..."

The girl was almost whimpering, not really listening to him any more. Harry noticed she was fixated on the newspaper residing in his pocket with a longing that bordered on the inappropriate. Her right hand rose slowly to her mouth.

"You shouldn't bite your nails," he said on impulse. "Bad habit."

The words startled the girl as she jumped again, blushing slightly as she wiped her hands surreptitiously. She did that a lot it seemed.

"I wasn't doing that!" she whispered furiously, her eyes still on the paper.

Harry rolled his eyes. "If you want it so bad just ask."

The girl shifted from side to side as if his words stung her. "Just - just the science pages," she said half-heartedly, obviously not expecting anything.

"Here." Harry plopped the section into her surprised arms. Her face burst into a smile.

"Thank y-"

"Oh, Potter, you gonna do anything!" Dudley boomed as he came down one of the cramped aisles, carrying a basket filled with...

"You can't buy that... It's just junk!" Harry exclaimed, he'd been doing that a lot today, he thought idly.

The baskets contained fizzy drinks, chocolate, sweats, chewing gum, ice cream, cake and all other manners of food that sought to destroy said user's teeth. Harry lifted up a bag of sugary sweets that weighed a tonne. Was Dudley really on a diet?

He was about to question Dudley when a raging torpedo crashed into his side, leaving him toppling to the floor.

"Sunny, Sunny, Sunny, come on let's go!" Before the girl he had been talking could respond, she was dragged forcefully out of the shop by a fiery red head of speed. He noticed her pockets were filled with assortments similar to Dudley's basket. He looked at the teen, oblivious, nodding his head to music only he could hear. Harry had been sacked for less!

He wiped the sugar from his hands, the bag he'd been holding had split on impact, emitting a white powder that left him covered. He needed to rinse this out or it would drive him mad. His vision was also a little... funny. He hadn't landed on his head, had he? Harry walked over to the teen, more in hope than expectation.

"Do you have any place I can wash up?"

Surprisingly, the otherwise oblivious teen pointed to the furthest left corner of the shop. Hhhmm, maybe he wasn't as oblivious as he made out?

"Potter," Dudley started, but Harry waved him away.

"I'll be a minute, buy the junk if you want, I do-" he trailed off as his speech slurred.

Harry stumbled into the bathroom, or rather, on closer inspection, the toilet in a closet masquerading as a bathroom. His vision was a little fuzzy, but he hadn't fallen that hard. He grimaced at the state of the sink, looking away as he dipped his hands in the cesspit of god knows what.

Harry felt a great force pounding on his head. Had he landed on it? He didn't think so. Ugh. He trailed his now wet hands over his scalp. No blood. So what was this terrible pounding? He blinked several times, trying to regain his equilibrium. He looked at the broken mirror in front of him, or was it in front of him? Wait, there hadn't been a mirror there just a moment ago. Wait, when had it broken? Crap. He tried to squash the pain with his hands, it only intensified. He couldn't hold two thoughts together. Staring at the mirror. He felt a sudden inexplicable desire to touch it, no, to push through it.

"No, why would you do something as silly as that?" a voice in Harry's head argued.

"It's perfectly fine to touch it, it is a perfectly reasonable thing to do," another voice reasoned, more loudly than the first. Harry nodded. It was a perfectly reasonable thing to do after all. He raised his hand. There was a blinding light, and then nothing.

**************************************************

A chill overtook the air, making him shiver. Harry frowned, quickly assessing his location. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, feeling naked despite the jeans and t-shirt he was in. Quite simply, he felt exposed. He was in the vicinity of what looked like a long abandoned farm house, currently in a green field where he assumed, judging by the battered fences, animals must have been kept. The gentle sway of overgrown grass surrounded him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up to attention. It almost looked like it was... alive.

It was the godforsaken transition between night and morning that had him most on edge, the semi-darkness was unnerving, the silence almost painful. It was only early evening, so the weather definitely wasn't naturally. He studied it closely. It wasn't dark enough for everything to be invisible, which made it all the more frustrating. As if the darkness was toying with him, giving him just a tantalizing glimpse of some indecipherable object. Not enough to actually know exactly what was there, but enough to know that there was something there, something waiting.

Nothing but grass that tickled his knees dared get close to him. He estimated from what he could see that he was about five hundred meters from the protection of either the decrepit farmhouse, that looked as if it was simply exerting its remaining strength in the vain hope of not collapsing for another day, and the foreboding forest. The forest in particular was a sight to behold, it was almost like a prison, a prison for the light that could not escape. It was a different kind of darkness to the one of the very early morning, a kind that held no hope of a new horizon, no new dawn of light to brighten it. It made the Forbidden Forest look tame.

Wait! Was that - something moving?

Harry anxiously looked around 360 degrees, wand held deathly tight in his right hand. He was alone except for...

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted with an ardent ferocity that he could not contain any longer. A stream of raw anger rocketed from his wand, spiralling headlong in the direction of his most fearsome foe. The man, no, the monster who had taken everything from him. Kill him. Kill him. He thought ruthlessly. He wanted to see the light leave his eyes, he wanted the monster to feel his pain!

Voldemort smirked at battle with the ease of a practised killer. The spell connected with him in a blinding display of white light. Harry did not look away, he needed to see him die with his own eyes. To confirm it for himself. As the light faded, Harry's pulse began to quicken in anticipation. He smiled jubilantly. Voldemort's corpse resided in an acrimonious heap, almost buried in the grass - lifeless. He had done it!

Harry rushed towards the glorious corpse, feeling like a large weight had been lifted from his shoulders. _I did it, I did it!_ He repeated the mantra in his head faster than his own pulsating heartbeat. Harry had a sudden urge to scream, to shout at the top of his lungs. He had killed him, damn it! Everyone should join in the celebration. But, no, he had to confirm it with his own eyes first. To bury his demons once and for all. Harry knelt down to inspect his triumph.

His jubilation turned abruptly into horror when he inspected the corpse. He was staring into the empty eyes of Harry Potter.

"Always too slow, Harry," Voldemort's voice hissed with an icy humour. It pierced him further than any blade could. Voldemort didn't even have the decency to be even mildly irritated. The monster was merely humouring him.

Harry felt the tip of a wand press into his back. A poisoned chalice. Harry's shoulders slumped in the agony of defeat. He knew what was coming. There was nowhere to run, no hope for cover. He had failed again.

WEAK. FOOL. NOTHING. WITHOUT ME. A voice that was both familiar and foreign at the same time chanted in his ears.

"Crucio!"

The pain was so great that Harry couldn't even decipher his screams of pain from Voldemort's laughter. He collapsed to the unforgiving ground, not even noticing as his face snapped off a hidden rock, such was the pain of the curse. He felt like he was being burned from the inside, he flung his arms wildly in a pathetic attempt to put it out. His vision was obscured with red, whether from blood or the spell he had no idea.

Voldemort's satanic laugh seemed to grow increasingly louder in his eyes, the pain increasing in tandem. Harry slammed his eyes shut, desperate to drown out the mocking laughter. But in reality it was he who was drowning in a sea of his own torturous penance, his endless failure. He writhed, twisted, scraped, snarled, crawled, for anything, a way out, the end, anything. It felt like his body was being forcible shut down. He couldn't smell, he could discern only red dots.

Harry couldn't think, air seemed to elude him as he gasped for it desperately. His throat was burning from the screams of his wretched failure, every utterance merely fuelled his humiliation. Finish it, he thought savagely. Finish it, you sick bastard. He felt himself fading, the pain was a red hot fire now that engulfed his very being. Darkness seemed to be cascading into him, he felt himself begin to slip. And then the curse was lifted.

Harry almost didn't notice at first. The pain had been so ferocious that - he felt detached from his body, he couldn't move, only listen as his fate was decided. He thought he heard footsteps in the wild grass, but that could have easily been mistaken for the blood pumping in his ears.

"You shouldn't have come here, Tom." It was Dumbledore, he was saved! Mustering with all his might, he managed to lift his head to watch the exchange. In his wild thrashings he had flattened a large patch of grass around him. It would've been alarming to Harry just to see how far his grazed torture had taken him if not for the numbing pain that still contaminated his limbs. Like a thousand needles pressing into him at regular intervals, he winced at every attempted movement. Desperate to not give Voldemort the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

Voldemort held a malevolent glint in his eyes, bizarrely, he did not lift his wand, merely choosing to study Dumbledore with a slightly amused expression as if he were a fairly interesting painting. Dumbledore on the other hand was primed, eyes cold, back tilted in preparation. He turned to Harry, shaking his head like a disappointed parent about to scold a delinquent child.

What was he doing? Harry was stunned. Why was he looking at him... Voldemort was right there! He tried to voice his thoughts, but it came out as a hoarse whisper. Dumbledore simply continued to shake his head, eyes deathly cold. What was going on?!

The Hogwarts headmaster gave an elongated sigh, disconsolate. "You were always the weak one. So pathetic you turned to exile, betrayed your own kind." He raised his wand with an air of finality, eyes resound in what he should do for the greater good. "Avada Kavedara."

There was a merciless orb of sickly green light. Harry gave a silent cry, and then he cried no more.

_He awoke with a gasp to find himself in a courtroom, overseeing a trial. Small fragments flashed before his eyes from in between the crevices of a pair of hands.  
_

_"He has been sentenced to death. He's too dangerous!"_

_"No, please you can't, I'll look after him!"_

_"Seize him!"_

_"Stop it, don't come any closer!"_

_"He's loose, guards, after him!"_

_*******************************************************_

Harry found himself being shaken awake by a stranger, he had collapsed on the floor of the bathroom.

"You okay?" the stranger asked, concerned.

Not answering for fear his head might explode, Harry simply nodded before running out the toilet and then the Newsagents in one go. He vomited in the street, sweating head pressed against the wall of the Newsagents.

In between his hurls he questioned what he'd just experienced. It had been like a dream within a dream, he hadn't been able to control anything, but he could feel everything, like some sort of pensieve...

He tried to lift his head from the wall. He was exhausted! His limbs felt like they'd been stretched to their maximum, hanging on by a thread. Harry could only see straight for a couple of seconds before everything began to fade. Shit! What was wrong with him? He tried to push himself forcefully, but the wall suddenly closed in.

Harry awoke again, head feeling like it'd been split in two, he cringed at his surroundings, sitting outside the Newsagents in plain view. Lifting his head from the pavement, he corrected himself with a horrible embarrassment. What was wrong with him?

He took a little longer to compose himself, not really having the faintest idea on how long he was out. Slapping his face lightly to reawaken, Harry stepped back into the Newsagents. He hoped he hadn't been out for long, Merlin knows Dudley would revel in teasing him about fainting not once, but twice in quick succession. A new record.

Crap, he looked around, the place was deserted apart from the teen still nodding his head at the counter.

"Hey, did you see the big guy I came in with? Where did he go?"

The teen raised him arm mechanically in much the same way as he'd done earlier, only this time at the door Harry had just come through. Crap! Harry quickly gave thanks before rushing out the shop.

"Dudley, hey, Dudley, you here?"

He heard shouting coming from one of the alleyways between the shop and a residential building. Like a moth to a flame, he rushed to the sound. He rolled his eyes at what he saw. Dudley was currently cowering before a man with a hulk-like frame, shoulders practically bulging from his body.

"Dudley when I said pick on someone your own size - I didn't mean twice your size!" Harry said, getting a strange thrill from the terror on Dudley's face.

"I didn't pick on him, you idiot!" Dudley looked horrified at the very notion.

"Then, what...?"

The mass of humanity turned to Harry, teeth exposed - Harry recoiled on instinct. "He picked on my little brother."

Harry slapped his forehead. "I should've known... how old was he this time, Dudley? Four? Five?"

"He... asked for it" Dudley protested weakly, taking a step backwards as the mammoth approached. Harry stood idly on the sidelines, deliberating over where he could get the best view of the proceedings. Deciding to irk Dudley in the mean time. It was good for Harry after all, he could feel his headache already dissipating.

"What - did the little boy upset little Duddy-kins?"

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT, freak!" Dudley's face was now a mixture of terror and anger as he retreated further into the alley, running out of space.

"What you gonna do about it, Duddy-kins. In case you didn't notice, I'm not five. Don't have any little brothers you can assault either."

"I didn't assault anyone, Potter!"

The rabid mammoth looked confused at the whole affair. He stopped courting Dudley for a second to air his discrepancies. "Would you two stop bitching like an old married couple so I can kick the crap outta you!"

Harry and Dudley didn't appear to notice him as they continued bickering.

The mammoth's eyes blazed ardently. "WOULD YOU SHUT UP YOU STUPID IDIOTS!"

Harry eased up slightly with recalcitrance, head pounding slightly at the noise. While playing the helpless voyeur to Dudley's predicament would undoubtedly bring momentary joy, the repercussions would probably not be as humorous.

"Look I know you want to beat up Dudley, and God knows he probably deserves it... well, a thousand times, painfully, in fact it'd probably be good for him... why am I defending him again?"

"POTTER!"

"Right, sorry, anyway, can we not just brush this under the rug?"

The crazed lunatic didn't appear to accept the negotiations. "Shut up, idiot! This doesn't concern you!"

"Hey, call Dudley all the names under the sun if you want - in fact I'd recommend it - but don't call me an idiot." Harry stretched his aching limbs, sending out a warning signal.

It went unheeded. "I'll call you what I like - prick!"

"Right, fine then..." Harry dug into his pocket, unveiling a - twig?

The brute looked amused. "What you gonna do with that? Stick it up your boyfriend's ass?"

"He's not my boyfriend-" Harry looked up from his twig to be greeted by a fist in the face. Harry felt a similar sensation to flying on a broomstick as he was forcibly lifted in the air. Unfortunately the landing wasn't so pleasant and he possessed barely enough wear-with-all to mutter "not the bin" before being introduced to said foul, grotesque bin.

"Now your boyfriend's down, we can have a little chat!"

Dudley's eyes bulged as he looked for a way out, there was none. He was cornered.

*******************************************************

"Dudley, what the hell are you doing, what you stop eating me!!!"

The semi-conscious Dudley halted for a moment before continuing his chewing, all the while mumbling something about a cheesecake. At Harry's yells an old lady looked out her window.

"Well, I never, could you delinquents at least have the decency to partake in such sin in your own home," she slammed the window with a gusto.

Harry sighed. He was sitting in a bin that possessed the stench of manure while his cousin chewed quite contently on his arm. He'd just been beaten again, not to mention his head felt like it'd been trampled on by a herd of elephants. Add that to the granny thinking he was partaking in sexual acts with his cousin and Harry nodded. Yes, this definitely was a new low. Harry felt his wandless pocket. He had a fairly good idea what had happened, or rather, who had happened.

Getting beaten by a dumb muggle in this hell-hole. Harry hoped Voldemort didn't posses a crystal ball, because he'd most likely be spewing with laughter at the image he was currently seeing.

"Sigh, he's got more chance of dying from choking on his laughter than from me." On that thought, Harry slapped Dudley, who finally stopped his incessant chewing. Dudley's face was mixture of yellow and blue, eyes puffy - yet Harry found it difficult to conjure sympathy.

"You awake yet?" Harry asked gruffly, rubbing his numb arm.

"Yeah, yeah-"

Harry slapped him again.

"Hey, what was that for? I said I was awake!"

Harry shrugged innocently, although his grin did not reach his eyes. "You did say I was acting weird."

* * *

Author's Notes - My sincerest apologies if you find it confusing, if it's any consolation, Harry is just as confused as you. I would point out that the story is still in its infancy, enigmas that are introduced now will certainly be addressed. What you are reading is predominately Harry's interpretation of events, and he's not exactly completely stable at the moment. The next chapter will spell the end for the Dursleys, and allow Harry some answers.


	6. As One Illusion Ends

Disclaimer: Just another fanfic to add to the pile...

* * *

Harry Potter - Unite or Fall

Chapter Six - As One Illusion Ends

* * *

Date: August 3rd, 1996 9:45 PM

"Where is it!?" Harry demanded, arms folded as he scowled impatiently at the girl. He had managed to corner her in the bathroom immediately after dinner, with the parents busying themselves with dessert, the distraction was there. Surprisingly, Dudley had been very receptive in wanting to help. It appeared that he relished the idea of getting one over this little brat who'd upset the stability of number 4 Private Drive. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, indeed.

The small girl's eyes jumped around the bathroom with a dangerous intelligence, assessing her options. How old was she again?! Dudley's massive frame covered up a healthy portion of the comparatively quaint doorway, so any chance of escape was low at best. Like an animal cornered, she crouched down by the wall, ready to pounce. All that could be heard was a sporadic dripping from the bath tap, no doubt thanks to Petunia's excessive attempts to make her appearance somewhat bearable on the eye.

"What is it?" the girl said in her sweet little soprano, arms held shyly in front of her as if it proved she was harmless. Who was she trying to kid? Harry remained motionless as the girl slithered towards the shower curtain, draping her face into a protective shadow. Harry rolled his eyes.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he snapped back, but not too loudly. He was still weary of any possible interference.

"I don't!" the girl hit back petulantly, expression indignant. Harry snorted derisively. He was the one who should feel indignant, having distantly related family members popping out the woodwork announced, as if there wasn't enough Dursleys in the world...

Like a scene out of a classic crime movie where the courageous police officer finally brings the elusive criminal to justice at last, Harry stepped deliberately closer to the little girl, titling his head downwards to look more domineering.

The girl's eyebrows rose, a sneer enveloping her masked face as she stared right back at him without even flinching. Apparently the elusive criminal had one last trick up her sleeve.

"I could scream..." she said, letting her words linger deliberately as if this was a card game and she was attempting to call his bluff.

"Good to know," Harry said dryly, glare unrelenting. Although the girl's threat was certainly not an empty one. He really didn't want to deal with the wrath of an angry mother, particularly one with such a large pair of lungs. If she got really offended and rushed her daughter home, how would he ever find his blasted wand? Harry had expected the brat to be devious, but cunning?

"I could rip your doll's head off," a voice from behind Harry said, in a similarly non-committal tone to the girl. Harry turned his head, Dudley was holding a doll that he'd glimpsed the girl fawning over during dinner. One of those Barbie things that certainly looked as if it had been cared for with unyielding dedication. Not a scratch or hair out of place wherever he looked. Weren't children supposed to be messy? Or maybe he was painting them all with Dudley's brush.

He turned back to the girl and was pleased to note that the sneer had disappeared from her face. There was uncertainty now, as she stepped away from the shower curtain to confirm it for herself.

Harry snorted as Dudley made a show of squeezing the doll; massive hands coiling round it like a snake, suffocating it. He'd make a good Slytherin. Harry was begrudgingly impressed, hiding his amazement behind a narrowed glare directed at the brat.

The girl twisted on the spot indecisively, motioning to run then stopping in half step. He could see the dilemma currently waging war behind her eyes. Wincing with painful awareness every time Dudley's death grip tightened on her little friend.

"You won't like it," she said finally, relinquishing her very Dursley like stubbornness. She avoided his interrogative gaze by glancing awkwardly at the sickeningly clean tiles that shined with moist.

"Tell me!" Harry said impatiently.

His harsh words were magnified in the narrow confines of the bathroom, and the girl began biting her lip furiously, fidgeting on the spot as it she needed the toilet. "I... left it... by the penguins..."

Momentary confusion won out against anger. "Eh? Penguins?"

The girl took a deep breath, readying herself. "The Zoo..."

Wha- the Zoo! Harry growled in exasperation, nearly tearing lumps out of his own hair. Great! As if he didn't have enough memories of the place. "You lost the bloody thing in the Zoo! Fantastic!"

"I didn't lose it," the girl bit back contemptuously, as if Harry was blighting her integrity. She moved further away from the protective shield of the shower curtain, hands lively as she dusted off her troubles. "I just wanted to touch the penguins, but the stupid people wouldn't let me. I wanted to, to, " her voice took on a fiery bitterness as she recalled the events. "To smack them for what they did! To poke them and make them walk funny like the penguins!"

Harry snorted, all she was missing was a maniacal laugh and then she'd be perfect. He opened his mouth to say something but the self-centred girl now seemed lost in the heat of her rant.

"I tried to jab them with your stick thing, but it flew out of my hand and into the penguins' cage. It was so-"

"You mean you dropped it?" Harry said, rolling his eyes with belligerence as he felt the sudden desire to smack her over the head.

"I didn't, I didn't. It flew, like a big woosh!" The girl was losing it now, reconstructing the events with embellished noises and exaggerated struggling with an invisible object. She'd work well at the Prophet.

The words did interest him though, he rubbed his chin with bemusement at the bombshell that would surely snap the girl out of it. "You do know that you were playing with magic?"

He felt Dudley gasp behind him, scrambling as he almost dropped the doll, eyes clouded as if in memory. The word magic was as effective as simply pressing mute to the whole room. Silence. And not a peaceful one at that. Tension rose in the air. He couldn't help but be slightly curious to discover if the girl would follow the well travelled path that was the Dursleys' defiant stance against anything magical.

The wheels in the little girl's head began turning rampantly. She was obviously well aware of the stigma that came with the territory, her mother had probably subtly warned her of the strange exile in the Dursley household. He picked up shock and confusion from her face perfectly enough. It was the eyes that really intrigued him though. He watched with a distinct familiarity as they increased dramatically in size. There was a light twinkle filled with playfulness there, as the dark pools of her pupils grasped the many possibilities ahead of her: wonderment. Her mouth's edges curled downwards however. If it was found out she had been playing with a magical item...

Harry couldn't help but get a vicarious rush from it all, it was all so familiar after all. And yet to her it was new, exciting, unimaginable and absolutely terrifying. Harry watched her repeat the word as if it were a terrible secret that had now been placed on her shoulders, forced to keep like an unwanted child. Yet that fullness in her cheeks could not be ignored. All those infinite possibilities. He chuckled, causing Dudley to stutter. If the girl could feel all this. Could learn... maybe he wasn't completely alone after all? No, he threw that thought away.

Out of fear at having the poignant moment shattered by revulsion, he did what he always did.

"I'm going," Harry said, matter-of-fact, not even bothering to tell them where. He tensed his neck in preparation, bending it back and forth. Oh well, one obstacle after another... the story of his life. He supposed an apt name for his autobiography would be one big series of unfortunate events but unfortunately, like most things, that had already been taken. He couldn't even have purgatory to himself. He blinked as he felt a tug on his sleeve.

"You're going to the Zoo, now?" The girl's eyes were wide with delight as they looked up at him, reflecting ambiance.

"Don't even think about coming with us!" Dudley said from the door, waving the doll as a reminder. Dudley's version of the Stupefy held the girl in place as Harry detached himself from her. He tuned out of the rest of the bickering between the pair. Dudley seemed to quell the girl's flurry of emotions by stating that she'd get the doll back once they returned.

Pride hurt, she didn't answer, merely huffing loudly as Dudley placed the doll into his back pocket carelessly. Harry noted that she didn't run downstairs to be consoled by the loving arms of her mother. Instead, she watched as they made their own way downstairs, looking solemn as she clutched the wall.

Dudley made up something about going to a friend's dinner party filled with intervals of regular homework sessions, Petunia ate it up like a starving wolf. As they began to walk down the gradually darkening street, lampposts glowing brightly in protest, it hit him. Harry looked to his right, noticing Dudley's familiar grimace which he always used whenever Harry entered his presence. It was adorned on his cousin's portly face like a second skin. Why on Earth did Dudley want to come with him? After a moments deliberation he shrugged, as long as he was reunited with his wand, he didn't care. If Dudley wanted to follow then fine, but Harry definitely wouldn't wait.

**************************************************************************************

Harry was mildly amused by the furtive glances Dudley received as they waited on the night bus. A muggle one thankfully. Harry didn't even want to contemplate how Dudley would cope with a magical one. Harry's face darkened in memory as he recalled just how well he'd coped the first time. In complete contrast to the magical offering, the muggle bus' service was twice as slow during the darker hours.

A few occupants of the bus stop elected to walk after seeing Dudley settling himself down. Harry snorted, it appeared appearance was everything in this town. If Dudley looked tough... yeah, that's all that mattered. Harry looked down at his own skinny, and most of all wandless, frame...

For the hell of it, Harry remained standing as Dudley took a few quick puffs of a fag he'd just lit. Harry wanted to make some witty jibe about what Dudley's parents would think about precious 'duddy-kins' killing himself with every breathe. He couldn't muster the effort, the fact that the only previous occupant who'd dared to remain kept twitching after every puff embarrassed the hell oughtta Harry for some reason. The fact that he was a grown man wasn't lost on Harry either.

Harry wondered how he might look to this twitching man, hovering over Dudley like some hapless sidekick. A little brother? Some little puppet? Harry slowly rubbed his forehead, which was incongruously cold to the otherwise mild summer night. Dudley would you put that out, he wanted to say, but a part of him, a small part, didn't want to shatter the illusion - whatever it was...

Finally the bus came, Harry had been willing to walk, but Dudley had merely grunted disparagingly. The twitching man practically jumped on the bus as Dudley leisurely put out his cigarette. Harry noticed the driver was staring at him expectantly. He riffled through his worn out pockets to no avail. Surprisingly, Dudley paid Harry's fare without so much as a word. Cheeks slightly redder, Harry followed Dudley to the upper deck, grabbing the ticket the bus spat out. He watched as Dudley grumpily collapsed on the seat at the front of the bus as if he'd been dragged there against his will.

Harry wisely decided to sit in the seat across from him. The bus lay claim to only a few stragglers, all sitting as far away from each other as they could. He didn't bothering conversing with Dudley, who practically exuded an aura that said in no uncertain terms: piss off. Instead Harry stared at the grimy floor of the bus, unseeing as it screeched wearily on its journey. Everyone seemed distracted by something he couldn't see. Harry wondered if they would even piss on him if he was on fire - he thought it unlikely.

What depressed him even more was the fact that he actually cared. He looked at Dudley, oblivious to the world, staring out the damn window as it were some sort of... He obviously wasn't fazed by the whole thing, so why did Harry have to be?

***********************************************************************************

"Thanks," Harry mumbled after the driver, but he didn't think the man heard as he drove off, leaving Dudley and Harry alone on the desolate pavement.

Harry ignored the fliers promising discounts or the statues of smiling animals looming ominously overhead, instead he had eyes only for a great big fence that covered it all reading: 'Closed'.

"It's closed," Harry said, matter-of-factly. Dudley seemed unperturbed as he quickly took out another cigarette - how many did he keep in there!

"We can sneak in... through the side fence," he said between puffs.

Harry frowned. "You make a habit of this?"

Dudley continued puffing away obstinately.

"Lead the way then." Harry conceded, eager to be united with his phoenix feathered wand. As if to showcase a quiet rebellion, Dudley stood for another moment or too, smoking silently. He suddenly chucked it away without warning. Harry pictured hundreds of Eco nuts cursing Dudley's very soul as he sauntered off, nonchalant - except with Dudley, because he was so big, it looked more like he was bobbing from side to side. Harry grinned as he followed, their footsteps more pronounced in the night - it seemed the whole world was now asleep.

"Why do you always chuck them away before they're even finished?" Harry asked, trying lamely to break the silence. He couldn't really see much, eyes failing miserably to adjust to the night. He looked up. While the setting was pitch black the sky was certainly not seamless, leaving a protective undercurrent of cloud that denied the stars access, creating a humid, shell-like claustrophobia.

"Taste like crap," Dudley answered as he stopped suddenly, bending down. Harry crouched down with him, inspecting a hole about two feet high and three feet wide in the fencing. He noticed what looked like scratch marks around the ragged edges of the hole, whoever did this must have been in quite the hurry.

"What happened here?" Harry asked, testing the strength of the fence with his hands. It didn't budge.

"Dunno," Dudley answered, avoiding the question.

Harry felt his face grow hot, Dudley's monosyllabic disposition was pissing him off.

"You sure you can fit?" Harry smirked as he nudged in ahead of Dudley, crawling through. The ground was filthy, chewing gum and sweaty wrappers dominating the landscape. It left a foul, stale smell that reminded Harry of a typical Neville potion; his method of choice was to throw any ingredient within reach into his cauldron in a sort of crazed frenzy under the ever intense gaze of Snape. Disaster always ensued.

Harry felt his brow furrow painfully. Thoughts of Snape's pale and greasy complexion left an acrid taste in his mouth at the best of times, but in this position, among the filth, it felt like Snape's sneering face was right above him. Harry clenched his fists as he continued to crawl, having a sudden desire to swing at something, he felt his-

"For chrissake, Potter, hurry up!"

He felt a large force prod against his back as Dudley tried to climb over him. Merlin, the air seemed to evaporate from his lungs as his face was ploughed into the dirt, eyes stinging as his glasses pressed against them. Needed no further encouragement Harry kept on crawling, faster and faster, through the fence, towards his wand, and Snape's sneering face...

***********************************************************

"Where did the brat say she'd left it?" Dudley said as he horsed around through the gift shop, throwing around bouncy balls and drawing on the little fluffy polar bears with pens that he'd nicked from the counter. Harry imagined that parents tomorrow wouldn't be best pleased when their children rushed towards them with toys covered in variations of 'fuck off'.

Harry's eyes remained focussed on the big map that dominated what looked like the reception desk. It was bright and colourful, dotted with little smiling faces of children and animals, Harry's eyes narrowed in concentration. Right, they were at the bottom, and the penguins where... there, right in the centre, past the monkeys and next to the reptiles. "Dudley, it's right-"

Bang! Thousands of those little useless keyrings scattered across the floor as Dudley accidentally tripped over one of the bouncy balls that he'd thrown away in the first place.

"Dudley, would you stop nicking stuff!" Harry cursed, hurriedly trying to tidy the mess up before Dudley burned the whole Zoo to the ground. "I'm only here to get my wand, not get arrested!"

Dudley was now sniffing around the counter like some sort of trained hound. "These things are always free. They practically give them to ya."

"Dudley, that's a charity box," Harry said with a detached disdain

Dudley eyed up the money greedily. "I'm just taking a look, these chains don't seem very secure."

"Could you just hurry up!" Harry snapped, abandoning the map. It felt like like being back at Hogwarts, sneaking down the foreboding corridors in a night that never seemed to end; only guts and a severe absence of common sense to guide him. He idly remembered that he should have brought his invisibility cloak, half expecting Mrs Norris to magically appear around the corner. The corridors leading to each sector were long and intertwining, no doubt to enrich the 'experience' of the Zoo.

Harry couldn't escape the sense that it seemed more like the whole place had closed down completely, rather than merely retiring for the night. The large white pillars that dominated the entrance hall looked more like something you'd find in a long forgotten tomb than a child friendly Zoo. Shouldn't there be people looking after the animals?

As Harry began moving the faint rustle of animal moans became more prominent, yet they felt somewhat... timid? Harry didn't linger to admire the sights before him, merely keeping alert and walking steadily. The cages containing the animals suddenly seemed pretty insignificant. The eerie silhouettes of nondescript animals behind battered bars like dangerous criminals unnerved him. What was that one? He strained to make it out but his mind was blank. Regardless, they probably loved it during the night, not having to endure the pestering of children - both young and old - wanting them to 'perform'. He could relate. Shaking his head Harry tried to keep focus, reduced to counting his steps as he traversed the sleeping Zoo.

He could feel Dudley a couple of steps behind him as he entered the reptile area, the repugnant and familiar smell was all the heads up he needed. The corridor was narrower here, with reptiles encased either side for the viewing publics' pleasure. The air was humid and the sickeningly yellow lights on the roof fought with the darkness for dominance, covering everything with a relentless scrutiny. Harry picked up the exotic fragrance of the rainforest, mingled with forgotten ice cream pestering him from the ever so frequent bins that people seemed determind to ignore. The corridor was long and straight, leaving Harry with a sense of being exposed, the exit clearly visible, if unattainable. Harry gulped subconsciously, he was close.

Eventually Dudley caught up with Harry, if only to complain about something. "It feels bloody cold in here. Do they not have any heating in this crappy place?"

Unfortunately for the animals, they wouldn't be free from spoiled children tonight. Harry tried to give him the cold shoulder, feeling something in his gut tighten.

"Potter, for chrissake, it's free-zing!"

Harry was about to protest when he noticed his breath crystallise in the air. What the... that was a bit excessive, even for England! It was July after all. He looked at his hands, they were shaking, teeth chattering.

"Yeah," he said, silently cursing himself for not picking it up earlier. "I think we sh-"

His speech was interrupted by the shrill cry of a mother he had never even known outside of nightmares, mingled in with scathing mutterings from numerous people he didn't recognise. The hair on the back of his neck stood to attention. A pronounced chill overtook the air, one that left anyone in its wake small and vulnerable. He caught Dudley wheezing heavily, eyes wattery. If happiness was tangible, it had been suddenly posted missing in action. Shit!

"Come on!"

Harry grabbed Dudley, but he didn't need the extra encouragement, running for his life down the corridor with him. Get the wand! Get the wand! Harry repeated the mantra in his mind, they were in the reptile corridor, just a little bit more. Burnese Pythons and Komodo dragons blazed by, stoic and silent, as if frozen. There was only one creature who could have that kind of effect.

Their footsteps clattered after them as they ran, incomparable to the pace of their respective heartbeats. His ears drowning in the sea of screams that had long since died, Harry strained to keep from blinking, eyes watering as he focused in on the blissful exit to the reptile area.

A cloaked figure floating methodically blocked the sanctuary of the exit. Crap! Harry stopped in mid-run, nearly toppling into Dudley who was now nothing more than a blubbering wreck. Back! He continued to pull Dudley, now backwards. He didn't dare even think about looking back. Run. Run. Run. That was everything.

Fear seemed to drive him to new heights, but he knew that it was futile to simple try to outrun something that didn't even need to run. Think, Harry! He pleaded for something to pop out.... There! He spotted an open door in between two cages. An equipment cupboard! Open and everything! Not willing to question his fortune, Harry bundled Dudley into the cupboard despite his protests, getting out of the exposed and dangerous corridor. He closed the door twice, gripping the handle with all his might for reassurance.

Seconds spread out for an eternity as he refused himself the right to even breath, willing his body to turn into a statue. After a few minutes of agony, Harry allowed his head to rest on the door, breathing heavily as he took in more than air. He didn't even register the sticky substance that coated the door, and now his head. The screams had finally stopped, allowing him to grasp the situation with at least some semblance of coherence.

Dementors! Here of all places! Questions bombarded his mind: What the hell was going on? Why here? Why now? Who had sent them? And the most pressing question of all: How was he supposed to stop them without a wand?

He'd almost forgotten Dudley, whimpering in the corner, his voice, shaken, startled him. "It's them again... Isn't it... Them things..." Dudley couldn't go on, shoulders sagging, he just continued wheezing heavily, as if the words had taken everything he had.

"That might keep them back," Harry said, trying to be reassuring.

"Might! What do you mean, Might!" Dudley snapped, surprising Harry with the sudden outburst.

"Well, I dunno, I think Dementors are corporeal, but they kind of - well, it was never really explained to me..."

Dudley was hysterical. "Explained! What do they teach you in that goddamn school? They're big monsters for-"

"Dudley," Harry interrupted coldly. "I know for one thing that they aren't deaf so shut up for a sec, okay?"

Harry was trying desperately not to panic, but Dudley's hysterics were contagious. What was this stuff on the door? He struggled to lift his feet to get a better look, wait, it was on the floor too!

"Dudley, do you feel this stuff?"

"Stuff?" Dudley abruptly started turning white, he looked around the room accusingly, as if it was somehow conspiring to get them caught. Head turned rapidly, Dudley's face smacked into a net, or at least what looked like one. Harry sighed as Dudley frantically tried to untangle himself.

"... So what do we do?" Harry asked himself aloud, taking care to whisper.

Dudley looked offended at the very notion, rising up so they were nearly nose to nose, his voice tremulous as he spoke. "What do you mean?"

Harry tried to reason with his cousin but he was beyond logic now, scathingly repeating Harry's words with incomprehension. "What do we do? What do we do? What the hell - we wait here till they go away! That's what we do!" As if to christen the statement, Dudley folded his arms and sat down instantaneously, the thud that resulted from impact was prolonged and defiant.

"Is that the best you can think of?" Harry bit back sarcastically, kicking Dudley slightly to revive him from his catatonic state.

Dudley didn't even react to the kicks, just continued sitting there as if he'd reverted within himself.

Harry pulled a frantic hand through his hair - about the only thing he could see - face wrinkling in frustration. The air was thick with disuse, congregations of dust awakening from their slumber after every deep shuddering breath Harry took. There was no way in hell Dudley would budge, not in this mood. This was the type of obstinate behaviour that had everyone fawning over him back in primary school. Harry turned, slouching on the sticky door as he contemplated. He could just leave the idiot to rot, he supposed...

"Hey, wait a sec, do they die during the day like vampires?" Dudley asked suddenly at random, tone cautious but hopeful.

"No," Harry retorted with just a little contempt, rolling his eyes in the darkness.

Dudley sighed with frustration, face stating that he believed Harry was deliberately being difficult with him.

Harry shook his head, it was futile sitting here arguing. "We have to do something," he said as he rose from his slouching, nearly smacking his head off of some object attached to the roof in the process. Their pact of silence broken, it rattled agonisingly, like a church bell motioning its followers to congregate.

"What!" The clatter had Dudley alive and alert. "Great, Potter! Fantastic! Now we're dead!"

"I need my wand back, and someone might get hurt in the mean time." Harry pointed around him, "We can't just hide in a cupboard, believe me, I know."

He tried to grab Dudley by the collar but the idiot resisted, eyes scanning the room frantically for a solution as he fidgeted, breathing now short and desperate.

"We could... we could... call the police!"

Harry shook his head swiftly, again trying unsuccessfully to grab him. "Dudley, not even you're that stupid. What could they do to a Dementor? Puh, the Dementors would probably eliminate anything that got in their way. I'm pretty sure they don't differentiate between victims." Harry grimaced at his less than pleasant previous encounters. Shaking them away, he threw out his hand to grab Dudley again, who surprisingly didn't protest this time.

"You mean..." Dudley started, Harry frowned instantly at Dudley's noticeable quietened tone. "They're not... after you?"

"I'm pretty sure they are," Harry said, choosing his words carefully as he elaborated. "I'm just saying they wouldn't look a gift-horse in the mouth."

Dudley didn't appear to be listening. "So if they got you... they'd leave... right?" The last murmurs of the rattling objects had long since died away, leaving only their weary breathing as accompaniment.

"... I guess - Hey, wait-" Harry's vision blurred as he felt a dull thud echo off his skull, but it was the following scream from Dudley that truly disorientated him:

"He's over here. He's over here!"

The floor connected with Harry's face like a vehement punch to the jaw. His ears were ringing, his glasses askew - but that wasn't what made him flinch, that made him want to curl up into a fetal position and... there was no denying that malignant chill that overtook the air like a cold shower. Harry twisted on the unforgiving concrete, flesh grating against it like a razor. He was in the corridor. He could see it coming.

Harry scrambled to get upright but his legs buckled involuntary. Sickening screams reverberated around, but they were not his mothers - shit, Dudley! It was attacking him!

Dudley's screams were a tangled indecipherable sea of pain, he was close, but the ringing in Harry's ears made him seem an eternity away. Rolling, Harry scrambled back into the cupboard, completely disorientated, head spinning - he picked up the first thing that his hands touched, a snare pole, rushing out to meet his maker. He could barely see, only the stench of the reptiles filled his nostrils, letting him know that this was still the Zoo. He was still alive and breathing. The screams began to fade, Harry quickened his pace, struggling blindly towards the dying sound.

He savagely threw the snare pool back and forth, hoping to connect with something. There it was! He was close enough to make out a dark shape hovering over an immobile Dudley in a very familiar deathlike pose. Come on! He tossed the pole, heart in mouth. It missed. Harry couldn't look away as the pole seemed to slow down momentarily before connecting with the glass protecting a certain reptile. The glass and the pole shattered into fragments, sprinkling Dudley and the Dementor like some sort of finishing touch.

The Dementor cried in what appeared to be shock at the intruding noise of an alarm that rang out loudly, battling against the now flashing yellow lights for dominance of the surroundings. Harry did not waste the opportunity.

"Dudley, come on!"

He slapped Dudley hard in the face, giving no thought for the boy's well-being as he shook him. "Come on!" he repeated again, eyes shifting to the Dementor with trepidation. It only hurried Harry's actions. They needed to run. Now! It was paramount.

Harry threw a lifeless limb over his shoulder, teeth grinding together under the strain as he felt his whole body compress under the mammoth. He didn't know where they were going, just that they were creating a desirable distance between themselves and the Dementor, alarm tenaciously continuing to howl insouciantly. For once, he thanked the spiralling corridors, they needed to lose not only the Dementor but themselves.

Time was lost to him as he continued slithering away, not daring to stop for fear that the weight of Dudley would overwhelm him. He was unaffected by the grotesque flab pressing into his side, or the aroma of Dudley's offensively strong deodorant mixed in with the idiot's sleazy sweat and droll. The austere wane of the alarm was his only compass, his breathing grew lighter as it receded to nothing more than a memory. Now all he had to do was find a place to regroup. He lifted his head to both ends of the corridor they were now in hesitantly, as if he were a nervous first year making his way to the Sorting Hat.

Harry didn't even bother to smile at his good-fortune as he was greeted with the familiar sight of the gift shop. Quickly, get in! The last few steps increased both his urgency and his paranoia, shivering as he imagined a ice cold hand touching his shoulder. Harry aggressively threw Dudley into the shop, getting out of the open air. With renewed vigour he sprung into action, working on auto pilot as he scowered the room. Toys. Boxes. Shelves. Tables. He grabbed everything, anything to barricade the door. Harry was relentless, tireless, stacking them all up. He didn't pause to breathe until the room was completely barren except for the convoluted and hastily erected blockade.

He admired his work for just a second before the well light room unearthed some more dark secrets. "Blood," Harry whispered, staring at his dripping hands. The red texture was unmistakable, dark and murky. Harry hastily rubbed away the thin droplets, grimacing after every stroke. How could this have anything to do with Dementors? Harry didn't stop till his hands were raw to the touch, finally stretching his aching back before collapsing on the floor, mentally exhausted.

"Bloody Dementors, here!" Harry muttered to himself repeatedly, staring at the ceiling. A moan alerted him to a problem he'd temporarily forgotten. Dudley! The idiot lay prone in the corner, refraining from moving a muscle even when his life was on the line. A hot spike of anger flared up within Harry as he got to his feet, marching menacingly towards his cousin with a snarl on his lips.

"I should've just left you there to die! I should've just left you there - you big fat idiot, you absolute-" Harry instinctively pulled his right hand back to swing at Dudley, who didn't even have the decency to look at him. The pain in his hand made him hesitant, and the fury was gone, replaced by a sickening feeling in his stomach.

"You....." Harry lowered his fist, groaning in frustration as he finished lamely, "idiot..."

Adrenaline coursing through his body, Harry kicked the wall hard, barely registering the pain as his body continued to tense. After a short therapeutic session with the wall, Harry planted himself back down on the ground, as far away from Dudley as he could, not even wanting to look at him.

He was surprised when Dudley whispered, almost as if he were saying something forbidden. "Why didn't you then?"

"What are going on about now?" Harry said, a dangerous venom lingering in his tone.

"... Help me," Dudley finished, perhaps even quieter than before.

Harry felt the snarl reform on his lips as he spat. "Because you're an idiot."

Dudley's voice repeated the question, this time louder, almost pleading. "Then why? Huh! Why didn't you... why did you help me?"

"Dudley, just shut up before I throw you back out there!"

That shut him up, Dudley reluctantly quietened, staring at his feet. Puh, any threat to himself and Dudley sticks his tail between his legs, Harry thought bitterly. He sighed, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline was slowly stolen from his body. Harry stared at the ceiling absently, mind an empty page. In truth his temper was tiring him out even further, if not for the sharp pain in his hands and the uncomfortable floor, he'd have probably fallen asleep long ago. Harry jumped slightly when Dudley stirred, once again forgetting completely that his cousin was there.

"How did you know it would run off?" Dudley's voice was different now, completely out of context, that sort of false jovial tone created for small talk.

Harry snorted at the notion of him anticipating something like that. "I didn't," he said matter-of-factly, in no mood for conversation.

Dudley tried to chuckle, but it came out as a pathetic half cry. Harry eyed him up with confusion, noticing Dudley slapping himself on the cheek. He recalled Dudley doing something similar when the police had questioned him about hoaxing 999. Dudley had of course protested his innocence, and Vernon and Petunia had been like echoes, giving the police the... crap.

Harry sighed, suddenly remembering something as his problems mounted. "Now we've got to worry about the police."

"Huh?"

Harry coughed derisively at Dudley's stupidity. "We just triggered an alarm, don't you think they'll come running?" he asked snidely.

Dudley's expression immediately brightened from what had appeared to be an impenetrable gloom. "Great, they can deal with that... that thing! All we have to do is get the hell out of here!"

"Dudley," Harry started, rubbing his brow. "I'm worried because they'll get themselves killed! I don't want more death tonight..." Harry faltered, a bitter tiredness enveloping him.

"More...?"

Harry stared at Dudley grimly. "Don't you find it odd that the Zoo is completely deserted? Not even a sound when the alarm went off."

Dudley shook his head violently as a sudden inexplicable urgency to find the real truth overtook him. "No- no, it's night , they were probably just - they're taking a break and- come on, they can't all be dead! There's no evidence, no nothing!"

Harry raised his still stinging hands reluctantly. "And what about the blood?"

Dudley jerked away as if the sight burned him. "No! It's not blood.... it's something - tomato... sauce... or something. Definitely!" Dudley shook his head in defiance.

Harry shook his head as he turned away from Dudley. Harry was shocked when Dudley grabbed his shoulder. "No! Someone would know, someone would do... something." Dudley trailed off, chewing his fingers for reassurance.

Harry gingerly detached himself from Dudley's grip. "Who?" he said, giving Dudley a withering look from the corner of his eye.

"I don't know! Someone..." Dudley gave Harry a furtive glance before he continued the incessant chewing.

Harry closed his eyes, rubbing his scar with a tentative finger, weighed down by it all. He thought of all the lies, deceit, the half truths, the diluted truths he'd been fed over the years.

"They're not dead." Harry said simply, voice emotionless, feeling something swirl in the very depths of his soul.

"Wah?" Dudley's face was an open question.

"It's worse than that," Harry took a deep breath, feeling like he was divulging some secret he'd sworn to keep. "They don't just make you relieve your worst memories, they become your last."

"But you sai-"

"They take your soul, leaving an empty shell behind. Death is so much... more... easy."

Harry noticed Dudley shiver involuntary. He nodded in empathy.

"I hear my mum," Harry started, not sure where this sudden dash of brutal honesty was coming from, but knowing that he had to continue "She's screaming, it's right before, right before she... but I can't really see much so-"

"You're lucky."

"Huh?" Harry asked, wondering how that could possibly be considered lucky.

"I see it all." Dudley had a very odd look on his face, devoid of any sort of emotion, it looked like the Dementor had already succeeded. Harry treaded carefully.

"See... what?"

"Everything... then it fades to dad, and I'm standing next to him, like just standing there and... looking at him... and... I look up, and my mum's reading a letter with this... look and I, I'm looking at her and then she stares at... me... I-"

"That's enough, Dudley." Harry readjusted himself on the uncomfortable floor, letting his unruly hair sag over his eyes. He had enough bad memories as it was, no need for people to share their own.

Harry rested his head on the floor, arms serving as a makeshift pillow. "Hey, at least Dementors can't open doors," Harry said jovially.

"Really?" Dudley instantly piqued up from his melancholic mood, colour in his face steadily growing.

Harry thought on it for a second, chewing on his lip. "Well, actually I'm sure I saw them open a door before on the Hogwarts Express, well it's not so much a door as a-"

Dudley's mouth lit up in horror, emitting a squeak as his thin wall of confidence was destroyed before even the first brick had been placed.

"Don't worry," Harry quickly added, pointing to the mini blockade he'd exercised on the door proudly. "That might keep them back."

"Might! What do you mean, might!" Dudley fired back with indignation.

Harry winced as his attempt to lighten the mood was verbally torn to shreds. "I feel like we've been here before..."

Dudley frowned huffily but relented, shrugging it off with nonchalance

"Why do you keep trying to save my ass anyway?" Dudley asked with the same cool facade that had won him a gang of minions. Was this Dudley's version of a thank you, he noticed Dudley closing his eyes, appearing disinterested by any potential answer. Harry's irritation grew at the display, wondering why Dudley was so determined to discover the answer.

"I didn't do it because I like you," Harry snapped bitterly, rubbing the rabidly forming lump on his forehead. He'd forgotten about it till now, and it made him pay for it, pain searing every time he moved. Harry hadn't meant it to sound so harsh, but... he didn't take it back either.

Dudley appeared unperturbed, pressing causally. "Then why did you do it?"

Slightly annoyed that this had turned into a personal attack on him, Harry tried to pass it on. "I dunno, why are you so curious all of a sudden?"

"Because I want to know how." Dudley spoke so faintly, Harry was unsure if what he heard was actually true, he seemed to be sniffing a bit, so maybe he was sick? Harry continued to rub his head, a painful reminder.... "Dudley..."

"When you face them," Dudley interrupted, softly, as if he were just talking to himself, "you get scared right?"

"Of course," Harry said without hesitation.

"But, how do you, you know, keep going?" Dudley's eyes shifted from cool austerity to fervent desire.

"What do you want me to say?" Harry asked, bypassing the uncomfortable question. "That there's nothing to worry about, that there's some trick?"

"You're different," Dudley said suddenly at random, Harry twitched as Dudley continued. "Did something-"

"Dudley, considering you don't even know me, how could you possibly say I'm different?" Harry interrupted with annoyance.

Dudley's eyes met his gaze. He was standing now, almost hovering over Harry, who remained dispassionate. Fine then...

"There isn't," Harry started bitterly. "It never goes away, at least... not for me."

Dudley lowered his head but Harry continued his endeavour. "I just sort of, forget about it I guess, I keep my mind busy, practical - it doesn't always work but..." Harry trailed off, this clearly wasn't what Dudley was looking for.

Harry rubbed his chin, contemplating. "You just have to realise, in your own time, that fear isn't necessarily a bad thing, it keeps you from making a mistake, stops you from getting cocky, I guess. And you sort of realise, well, you remember what you're fighting for, sort of."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Harry said with resolute confidence... even his words felt somewhat hollow. He supposed it sounded good enough, at least for Dudley, and Harry was sure it would fit some people like a glove, but... he wasn't 'some people'. He hated fear, about just as much as he hated being left in the dark over something.

At that thought he scrunched up his eyes, studying Dudley who was currently pacing around the room somnambulent as his mind digested what he'd been told. Harry was alarmed to find that he couldn't read him at all. Dudley had always been so... obvious, simple - nothing more than a spoiled brat. Maybe he'd never properly looked? Harry shook his head violently, flicking his tongue, feeling his head turn into cinder. Nah, it was just the Dementor getting to him. Time to move. Harry clapped his hands together, trying to reinvigorate the silence as he rose daintily, flexing his neck, ready to uncoil.

"Well, this was fun, Dudley, but it's time to finish this."

"Wait, you're going out there?" Dudley pointed to the barricade, mouth wide with horror at the thought of being exposed to the Dementors.

"Nah, there." Harry nodded towards the fire-escape door which Dudley seemed to have never noticed.

Dudley frowned, wheels turning in his head as he connected the information. "Wait, you went to all that trouble to... block the door when there was another one right there?"

"Yeah, slipped my mind." Harry shrugged benevolently, tapping his head lightly - before wincing as his lump pulsed in agony.

"You're bloody crazy!"

"I'm a bloody wizard!" Harry mimicked Dudley's exasperated tone as he winced, much to the larger boy's irritation.

Harry smirked as Dudley glared at him. "Okay, let's think, what to do... Well, if we could just lock them up somewhere, somewhere bright - I don't think the light'll kill them, but I don't think it'll help them either."

"Yeah, I get that too," Dudley said, almost smiling again.

Harry nodded slowly, continuing. Damn, he felt like Hermione, weighing up the logistics while his audience waited with baited breath. "Although I suppose the safer bet would just be to make a run for my wand, we're not far off... is there only one of them?"

Dudley shook his head, face blank. "I... couldn't see."

"Oh right, sorry, forgot about that." Harry briefly thought what it must feel like for Dudley, having to confront a nameless, unidentifiable fear. At least he could direct his ire, his frustration at something, with Dudley, it was some bizarre, impossible thing. Harry smirked ruefully - this was his world, not Dudley's.

"I'll go."

Dudley stiffened. "You can't - just leave me here! "

Harry waved off his vocal protestations, saying reassuringly, "It's the only way, I need my wand to stop them... don't worry, I'll come back right away."

Dudley pointed his finger at Harry accusingly, a sort of mad, unbelieving look in his eyes, like he was staring at an impossibility. "You're crazy..." Dudley said, slow and breathless. "Absolutely crazy. God, they're trying to kill you and you're just gonna walk out there and fall into some sort of trap or whatever?"

Harry moved his hand side to side in an indifferent motion. "Meh, maybe it is a trap, maybe it's not. Seems like something Voldemort would do... although he usually sits on it for a year or so. I've survived this long, why change a lifelong habit?"

Dudley opened his mouth to speak but words failed him. He raised his hand towards Harry for a split second, and then jerked it away.

"Mum's gonna kill us when we get back," Dudley said after a beat, trying to chuckle; it finished somewhat awkwardly as the larger boy looked away, unsure how to continue.

Harry shrugged, appreciating the effort and relieved that Dudley was offering his consent. "I'm sure you can deal with Petunia. It's that brat we have to worry about, she makes you look like an obedient dog."

"Shut up, Potter," Dudley said, faithfully orchestrating a face filled with contempt.

Harry snorted sardonically, opening the fire-escape he-

"Ow, Harry, wait!"

Harry turned with exasperation. "Come on, Dudley! It's no-"

Dudley threw one of the pamphlets he'd stolen earlier into Harry's hand, retracting his own like lightening as he looked away. Harry raised his eyebrows, looking down he noticed... it was a map!

Harry nodded at Dudley gratefully. "Hhmmm, you do have your uses after all..."

"Shut up, Potter," Dudley said again, this time more out of habit than anything else.

"One day, maybe." Harry turned, giving Dudley a mock wave as he exited the gift shop, leaving both Dudley, and his own smile, behind. He slithered amongst the yellow light, face contorted in a steely determination. He was coming back.

*******************************************************

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Harry kept his head down and eyes focused, skin almost waiting expectantly for that visceral chill. He was taking the long way round the Zoo; it seemed the reptile area was some sort of epicentre for trouble. Unfortunately the sprint left his mind free to stew over the situation he currently found himself simmering in. It was completely volatile, he bemoaned. He had no idea if there were any staff here, where they were, how many Dementors were actually present, not to mention why they were bloody well here in the first place! Hermione wasn't far wrong in her assessment that he attracted trouble.

He cursed under his breath. Concentrate on the positives, Potter: Dudley was no longer holding him back, he knew where his wand was - kind of. That thought made his stomach squirm, what if the brat had been lying? He could be spending hours and risking his already precarious life on a fruitless search. Made to look like the fool again, like some-

"Harry Potter?" A rich, almost deathly contralto announced, but - it was strange... Harry somehow... knew... knew it wasn't a question. It was the tone, he decided. It was both cautious and certain; she wasn't asking whether he was Harry Potter, but whether he was actually aware of that fact. Harry took a deep breath...

It brought him out of his reverie long enough to take note of his surroundings, leaving him with an inexplicable desire to gorge out his eyes. For the love of... He was in some sort of desert, although it didn't feel like a desert in that he wasn't desperately searching for water and shade.

Harry held up a hand to cover his eyes, but it was unnecessary. Certainly the sun was blaring down and the sky was a perfect blue, yet he just couldn't feel a thing. He couldn't even hear the gentle swishing of the wind. It was like all his senses except for sight had been turned off. And what a sight. The endless stream of golden sand that spanned for as far as he could see was certainly real enough to his mesmerised eyes.

Harry bent down to confirm. He watched as the sand failed to give into his grasp, remaining solid like concrete. Harry gazed at it intensely, feeling inexplicable like it was gazing back. He quickly removed his hand, shaken. It was like... he gathered something familiar from it... and something painful.

"An allusion, right?" he asked sardonically to the female figure before him that contrasted painfully with the extreme surroundings.

The apparently mystical figure approached Harry with an almost ethereal, dreamlike quality about her composed and contained gait. Pale as a ghost, her expression was placid, dark sombre brown eyes giving no hint of her intentions. Her black hair was ragged and uneven, reaching her shoulders, it gave the impression that she cut random chunks of it rather than all at once. Her clothing was a fairly drab black cloak that covered her whole body, almost like some sort of cocoon. It gave not even a tantalising glimpse of her figure, and Harry wondered just what she was hiding underneath it all.

Not sure what to do or even what he could do without a wand, Harry decided to feign arrogance by staying put and letting her continue her approach. It's not like he could really run away in this situation - he cursed himself for once again blundering in. He was definitely out of his element here, and in truth, exasperated to the point of recalcitrance. The figure stopped a foot away from him with grandiose ceremony, it seemed every movement was calculated, not an ounce of energy wasted. Her hand slithered from under her cloak... and then she slapped him across the face.

"Whaa!?" Harry managed as he stumbled to one knee, flabbergasted.

"You asked me to do it." The voice was again faint and emotionless; giving the impression that it wasn't actually coming from the body before him. She was completely unapologetic, her expression still unchanging. He didn't detect any insult only... well, nothing.

Harry laughed in disbelief in front of her unflinching stare. He struggled to find words for this ludicrous situation he found himself in. "Look, I'm sorry, but... really... what is this?"

Silence. Okay, right, he was tired of this already. "Just tell me this: are you helping the Dementors?"

"Not in the way you assume," she replied in a monotone, voice a projection filled with an absence of emotion. A vein on Harry's forehead throbbed. Could this person give a straight answer? At least she was aware of them he supposed, but by now Harry was completely exasperated with the day he was having; wanting nothing more than to move this on as quickly as he could.

"Okay, I'll try again. This time with an easy one, why are you here?"

"Harry Potter requested my presence?" Her eyes flickered slightly, the first crack in her statue-like expression.

"What? I did not! I don't even know you!" Harry said, almost blushing despite himself. Why would he have any reason to request her? The women did not respond, she apparently thought it wasn't even worthy. Harry took a deep breathe. Fine. He would play.

"O-kay, why did I request your presence?" he asked, keeping his tone contrite while emphasising the 'I'.

"You didn't." Unless she was an incredible good actor, she was being deadly serious.

Harry squinted. "Huh? But you just said..." He sighed tiredly. "Okay, fine, what do you want?"

"I desire nothing from you."

Did he really have to spell it out? "Why... are... you... here?"

She didn't flinch at his outburst, merely waited a little longer for the echo to fade. "To prepare you for what is to come."

"What is coming?" he asked, almost sarcastically, better to humour her and get this over with. She was either in collusion with Voldemort, working with Professor Dumbledore or just a complete nut job. He didn't have the patience for any of those options.

As if waiting for him to stop thinking, she finally replied faintly, "It is not my place to tell you... not yet... I am only sanctioned to prepare you and the time is not yet right." She was either unaware or unconcerned by his skepticism.

Great, preparation - Harry didn't even bother asking what for, it was like talking to someone with the mental capacity of Dudley and the mental stability of Luna all rolled into one.

"Thanks for the offer," he said insincerely, "but I already have enough helpers as is."

"..." was all she had to say in response to his blunt refusal.

Harry felt his shoulders sag. Was she deliberately ignoring responses she didn't like?

Seeing that he wasn't going to get any further - and desperately wanting to be united with his wand - Harry went back to his first question as he tiredly rung a hand through his hair, regularly closing his eyes in the hope that the Zoo would reappear.

"Who are you?"

Just as he was beginning to think of his next move, the stranger opened, then closed her mouth quickly, the first sign of hesitancy. After a beat, she finally spoke, using the least amount of words possible. "Shaman Twenty Three."


End file.
